The Road Home: Empty
by sosmitten
Summary: Missing scene, postfinale for 'Partings.' The first part of the 'Road Home' series.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** If they were mine, this very surely would not have happened.

**Author's Note: **This is the beginning of what will be a post-finale series. Huge thanks to the betas, **KinoFille**, **iheartbridges**, and **Lula Bo** for helping me tweak this story so that it properly begins the story I want to tell.

* * *

The click of her heels on the pavement is the only sound that penetrates the white noise buzzing in her head. She holds her fists closed tightly, her nails threatening to bite through the skin of her palms. Her breaths come in deep gulps, as though she'd just finished a race rather than a fight with her… 

She can't bring herself to put a name to what she and Luke have become, to think about what it means that she gave him an ultimatum that he didn't accept. That she's walking away and he's not following her. Because she knows that even through the sudden rush of sound in her head, she'd be able to hear the determined thumps of his feet. She'd know if he were fighting for her.

She can barely process the events that have led here: the insurmountable frustration at her inability to be a part of Luke's life, the hypocrisy of lying to her friends and daughter about her state of mind, the unimaginable coincidence of finding someone anonymous to talk to at the exact moment that her fears seemed set to overwhelm her in all of their agonizing hopelessness.

"_Maybe it's not meant to be."_

Each syllable echoes in the misty fuzziness of her thoughts, punctuated by the sound of her shoes on the street. _"May-be it's not meant to be. Step. May-be it's not meant to be. Step."_

The mantra takes on a sing-song rhythm that entrenchesitself more firmly with each passing step, that taunts her the further she gets away from him.

The words pause briefly when she reaches the Jeep and stops to pull out her keys, and she thinks that perhaps she's kicked the mantra, but it begins again as she climbs into her seat.

She reaches for her phone and punches buttons, the motions automatic. She stops for a moment as her finger hovers over Rory's number. As much as she needs her, she can't do it. She can't ruin her last night with Logan. Rory deserves the chance to make it work with _her_ boyfriend, even if her mother can't make it work with her own.

If not Rory, this should be something she could talk about with Sookie, but she can't bear the pity. She cringes against the thought of admitting yet another relationship failure to her oldest friend. Her friend who has managed to fall in love, get married, and have two children, all while watching Lorelai fumble around in the world of love and romance.

Without those options, the emptiness of her bedroom at home looms large, larger still for the fact that he hasn't been there to share it in days, weeks maybe. And he's not likely to be there again.

No, there's no way she can go back to the house that, after so many years of being hers and Rory's alone, had been expanded to become Luke's as well, only to now be just hers.

She leans her forehead against the steering wheel, feeling lost. She knows that only a few moments have passed, but the pressure on her head is a dull ache by the time she sits up, turns the key in the ignition and pulls out onto the road.

She's not sure when she decided where she was headed. She's only been to the new place in Hartford once, but she finds it easily. Too easily perhaps. She's there before she has a chance to think through the decision - before she's had a chance to understand why she's seeking consolation from the one person who won't tell her what a mistake it was to walk away from Luke.

"_Uhh…I'm having a really bad night and um…I just don't wanna be alone, okay?"_

Christopher ushers her in graciously, his voice concerned and his hand gentle on her arm. He leads her to the couch and she lowers herself onto it slowly. She closes her eyes for a moment, trying to get a grip on what she's feeling.

The strange thing is that she can't feel anything.

Lorelai has always been keenly aware of the tastes, smells, sounds, and touches that surround her. The sweet aroma of a stack of blueberry pancakes. The crushing ferocity of a hug. The full-body vibration of a hearty laugh. The shine of eyes glistening with love. The brush of skin against skin. She's wondered sometimes if she feels these sensations with more intensity than other people, or if it's really possible that everyone is able to feel as much as she does.

But sitting here on Christopher's buttery leather couch, all of that is gone. She has a vague sense that it's her mind's way of protecting her in the face of pain, but the absence is stark nonetheless. The room seems colder, brighter, and harsher than it should.

She turns her head to see Christopher staring at her. She can tell he's confused, out of his element. He's not used to being the one leaned on. He's looking at her expectantly and she realizes that he's said her name.

"Lor?" he repeats. "What's wrong?"

She just shakes her head

"Can I…Can I get you something? Coffee? Soda? Beer?" He lowers his voice slightly. "Something stronger?"

She shakes her head again, more vigorously this time. She's numb enough without adding alcohol to the mix. "Just some water please?" she asks, lifting her head to meet his eyes for the briefest of moments.

He nods, saying, "I'll be right back."

When he returns, he's got a glass for each of them. He hands it to her and she tips her head in thanks. He looks at her uncertainly before sitting down next to her, his body twisted to the side and his elbow resting on the back of the couch so that he can face her. She still sits as rigidly as when she arrived. Her hands, which had been clasped in her lap, are now wrapped tightly around her glass.

He reaches to touch her knee. "Lor, what's wrong?"

"I just don't want to be alone," she says dully.

"Why? What happened?" She can hear genuine concern in his voice, worry even.

She lifts her fingers up and taps them back down on the glass, one at a time, staring straight ahead at the immense entertainment center spread out in front of her. She finally says, her voice emotionless, "I don't think he wants to marry me."

"Why?" he asks, sounding confused.

She shrugs. "It's not meant to be."

She can hear the surprise in his voice. "He said that?"

She tries not to notice that he doesn't encourage her, that he doesn't try to convince her that she's wrong. She is trying to avoid pity and false hope, she reminds herself.

She let out a sigh. "I don't really want to talk about it." She tilts her head, glancing briefly at him. "Can we just…I don't know…watch TV or something?"

"Sure." He rests his hand on her shoulder and gives it a squeeze before he leans forward to get the remote off the coffee table. There's something faintly possessive about the gesture. It reminds her of the way he ran his hand along her arm in the bathroom at her parent's house earlier. She doesn't know what to make of it, so she turns her attention to whatever late-night talk show he has chosen.

They watch in relative silence, Christopher attempting a few jokes and jabs at the talk show guests. She gives him weak smiles to acknowledge his efforts. When the credits roll, he turns to look at her, saying softly. "I know you don't want to talk, but I just want you to know that I'm here for you." He reaches to brush hair from her face, and his fingers graze down her cheek. They're gentle and his voice is soft and so Lorelai leans into his hand. He lets his fingers curl down to cup her jaw, all the while looking her in the eye.

She knows that he wants her. Not just in the sexual sense, but in the sense where he wants her let him take care of her. He wants to be the man in her life. Subconsciously, she's always known that she's had this power over him, as much as she has tried to deny it. She's tried to attribute it to a father's love for the mother of his child, but it's always been more than that. And, deep in the hidden recesses of her mind, she's always known that.

And now, he's looking at her with affection, and he's been speaking soft, kind words all night, and she finds that she's having a hard time resisting being wanted. Because she's been wanting to be wanted, to be needed, for many months now. And there he is, wanting and needing her. Except that it's the wrong he.

She knows this even as she leans in to press her lips to his. She feels a little like she's outside of herself, like she's watching a character on TV. And that character is about to do something monumentally stupid. And she wants the person to stop, but all she can do is yell at the TV and she knows that it won't do any good because the character can't hear her. Because she's really just a television character.

She pulls back and he's looking at her softly. "Lorelai?" he questions.

It's the first time he's said her full name, and though it's not unusual for him to do so, right now it sounds strange coming from his lips. Everything is off, out of place, when all she wants is warmth and safety. All she wants is to feel something.

"Lor?" he says again.

She whispers, "Don't say anything," as she closes her eyes and kisses him again. She's not sure exactly what she's looking for, but somehow his lips aren't warm enough, the hand behind her head not quite firm enough.

She thinks maybe if she gets closer that she'll be able to feel more, so she reaches around his neck and holds more tightly, and his arms hold her just as tightly as his hands gently knead the muscles of her back.

She sinks into him, searching for sensation, feeling it just out of her grasp. She thinks maybe if she could touch his skin, or feel his fingers on hers that it could soothe her. Somewhere in her search for comfort, he's lost his shirt and his hand has found it's way under the hem of her dress. His kisses are gentle, but insistent, marking her lips, her neck, her shoulder and she can hear him mumble against her skin, "I'm here…you have me."

When he pulls away, stands, and takes her hand, she lets him lead her down the hall, lets him lay her back on the bed. Because all she wants is warmth and safety.

By the time she realizes there's none to be found here, he's grabbing a condom from the bedside table and pushing his way inside her and all she can do is close her eyes and wait for it to be over. She hears him above her, panting between thrusts, "Lor. God…missed you…love you."

She hears the words, and even knows that somewhere in her damaged psyche she thought she needed to hear them tonight, but they don't evoke the feelings she'd expected them to. They don't bring any comfort.

She can feel him circling his hips to try to entice more of a reaction from her as he nears completion. She tries to summon the effort to pull herself into the act, but fails and he finishes without her, gasping her name as he slows his movements inside her.

Propping himself on one arm, he slips his other hand between them. "I can make you…Let me…"

She reaches to stop him as she opens her eyes and shakes her head numbly. "No. It's okay."

He nods, rolling to the side and cradling her against his chest. She feels his fingers running up and down her back as he whispers. "I'm here. Whatever it is…I'm here."

She lets the words fall on her ears, trying to feel something in them. When he loosens his grip, she turns away from him, acquiescing when he slips his arm around her and pulls her to him.

She curls her body in a tight, protective ball, and grasps her hands together under her chin. Her thumb brushes across the ring on her left hand as she tries to summon disgust and revulsion at the way that she ran here and used him.

But she can't feel anything. Nothing matters anymore. Because it's not meant to be. She twists the ring around on her finger, so that the diamond is hidden and the ring just looks like a ring with no particular significance.

The action should hurt. She should be wallowing in the pain of what she's lost, should be crying great gasping sobs. But she just feels empty.

_To be continued…_

**Author's note:** There will eventually be a second chapter of this story, but not immediately, because I'm going to be working on another story in this series first.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Not mine

**Author's Note:** Big thanks to the betas: **cinefille**, **iheartbridges**, and **lulabo,** and a special thank you to **cinefille** for reading a mediocre draft and telling me I could do it better.

* * *

The voices slowly draw her out of sleep and Lorelai's mind registers little details mechanically: The clunk of the door latch echoing strangely off the bare walls, the unfamiliar rhythm of his footsteps, the soft weight of the covers across her chest, the muffled squeak of the bedsprings as he slides back into bed.

Christopher slips his arm around her, and she mentally searches for the guilt, the sadness she should be feeling, but there's nothing there. Even as he skims his fingertips across her stomach, she feels nothing.

No, not nothing actually. She can feel the heat of his breath against her shoulder and the light pull of friction between his hand and her skin, but his touch elicits absolutely no desire, no warmth.

She has to wonder what it means that she's naked in bed with a man she has no desire for. How she'd gotten here. She corrects herself, she knows the how, and even a bit of the why. She remembers the desperation, built not on desire but on need – a need to feel, a need to be wanted. She just doesn't know when she became that person who needs so badly to be wanted that she'd fall into bed with the first available person.

But, she realizes, that's not really the right question at all, because the fingers edging ever closer to the swell of her breasts aren't just any fingers, they're _his_ fingers, the hot breath is _his_ breath. She's not sure what it means, and for the moment she just tries to ignore the question. She's a little surprised at how easy it is to disregard his touch, to take comfort, briefly, in the fact that she is unable to react. His hand cups one breast as his lips touch her shoulder. Something – a shift in her breathing perhaps – alerts him that she is awake and he lets out a contented sigh. His thumb brushes her nipple and he whispers, "Good morning," before pressing a trail of kisses across her shoulder.

She closes her eyes, trying to feign sleep, or at the very least ignore his advances. But he is persistent and when he shifts closer to her, she can feel his arousal. She reaches for his hand and moves it off her breast, pushing it back toward his hip.

"Lor?" he asks. His confusion can't mask the hunger in his voice. "What's wrong?" He touches her shoulder with a gesture she suspects is intended to be comforting.

Shaking her head, she shrugs him off before giving a small wave across the bed, and saying dully, "This." She rolls onto her back and gives him a quick glance. She can see the wrinkles between his eyebrows that indicate that he's no longer sure what to make of the situation. Though he's still lying on his side facing her, his head propped up on his hand, he's pulled slightly away to give her a little space. Looking at the ceiling, she continues, her voice lifeless, "This is just one more in a string of my stupid mistakes. Someone could write a book, I think, _The Colossal Mistakes of Lorelai Gilmore_."

"Why does it have to be a mistake?" he asks, the sting of hurt in his voice.

"Do I really have to explain that to you?" The question should sound incredulous, but it just comes out tired.

"Lorelai, you came here. You kissed me. That has to mean something," he insists softly.

It does mean something, she thinks, though she can hardly bear to admit it. She doesn't want to be the person so weak she needs the affection of someone she doesn't love. She doesn't want to admit that somewhere in her psyche is a woman so needy that she's allowed this man to want her for so long. It's a sickening realization and it brings with it a feeling of revulsion all the more powerful for it being the only emotion she's felt in hours.

She sighs, trying to summon some measure of compassion for the man she carelessly used last night. "It means I was wrong." She pauses for a moment, then meets his eyes, and continues, her voice strangely monotonous, "I thought we were in a safe place. That we could be Rory's parents…and that we could be friends. Just friends. I thought we were there, that everything else was in the past, but I was wrong…"

"Maybe it's not meant to be in the past," he says hopefully.

"It's always been in the past, Christopher," she says, a little sharply. "We just needed to let it stay there."

"But this now," he gestures between them," this isn't in the past." He takes a deep breath and continues, "I love you. I've always loved you. We could do this…" His words trail off expectantly.

She can tell that he believes his words, that he honestly thinks they could possibly be happy together. He reaches as if to brush her hair off her face and she puts her hand up to stop him, letting out a frustrated sigh as her arm drops heavily on the bed between them. "Any chance for us died a long time ago."

"Not for me," he protests.

"But why? Why can't you let go? Why does it always have to come back to this?" She's surprised to feel a hint of anger. The unexpected emotion gives her a tiny bit of strength and she sits up slowly, gathering the covers around her as she pulls her knees against her chest. "Have I not made it clear enough? Have I honestly given you reason to think…?" Her voice slows as she makes sense of the anger – at him for not letting go. And at herself for letting him hold on. She needs not to be that woman anymore. And he needs to not be that man.

He sits himself, leaning on his arm, his words attempting to break her resolve. "Lor, you're the woman I want to be with. We-"

"I don't love you," The harshness of her words takes him by surprise.

He gives her a wounded look. "You did once, you could love me again."

"I love that you gave me Rory," she admits. "That will always be true. The rest…" She pauses to take a determined breath. "There's nothing else there. I'm not sure there ever was." She feels a small measure of guilt for the effect her blunt words are having on him, but she doesn't soften them. Christopher is too used to the way she's always made excuses for him and sugarcoated her criticisms. She can tell from the injured look he gives her that she has broken some sort of unspoken rule, but at the same time she knows that it is a rule that needed to be broken, that should have been broken long ago. He lets out a long, defeated sigh and she watches the hope waver in his eyes.

Before he can bring on another argument, she slips out from under the covers and picks up her scattered clothing from the floor. The fleeting moments of anger have passed and what remains are the dull pain of guilt and a fading self-esteem.

"So that's it? You're just going to leave?" His voice is bitter now, hurt as he watches her pull on her clothes automatically; she's lost any sense of modesty along with the rest of her emotional reactions. "You just come here, kiss me, sleep with me, then wake up and tell me there's nothing between us. And now you're just leaving?"

"I shouldn't have come," she says flatly. "You didn't deserve this, for me to come here like this. It won't happen again." The finality in her words stills both of them for a moment.

"So what does this mean, Lorelai? You're never going to talk to me again? Is that it?" He's blustering angrily, but she can see that it's a cover for the fear in his eyes, the recognition that she's taking a permanent step. That she's finally cutting the line and letting them go their separate ways.

She doesn't answer him, and she thinks it's that confirmation that makes him soften and play his last card. "What about Rory? We're still her parents." He looks at her and she wonders what it was about that helpless look that made her give into it for all those years.

She nodded, "Yeah. We are. But that's all now." It should feel momentous, this redefinition, this ending of a friendship too fraught with emotion to ever fit the true meaning of the word. She wonders if she should be feeling regret over losing this, no matter how twisted and destructive it's always been. Or if she should feel a sense of strength for having managed to move beyond it.

But as she opens the door to leave the room, the only thing left is the hollow knowledge that it's all too little too late.

**Author's Note:** I had planned for this to be the last chapter of this particular story, but there might be more to tell. I will also continue to work on _Broken_, which builds on events in this story.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** You all know I don't own them.

**Author's Note: **It bears repeating that my betas are awesome. Thanks to **CineFille**, **iheartbridges**, and **lulabo** for their questions, corrections, and suggestions, which, as always, have made this story better.

--------------

She hasn't cried since Luke left. Since the night before he left, to be precise. She really had needed to work that morning, so when he'd handed her the coffee and walked out the door she'd steeled herself against the tears, then turned and walked straight into the bathroom and flipped on the shower.

Thirty minutes later, dressed and fed, she'd given Paul Anka a loving pat on the head, fixed a smile on her face and pulled the door closed behind her as she'd headed for the front of the inn. If the rest of the staff had noticed the way that she'd buried herself in her work, the way that she'd occupied every second of every working hour, they hadn't said anything. They'd have been hard-pressed to muster a complaint. She'd been efficient, professional, and if not overly friendly, at least courteous.

It had been the only way to get through the days. To keep herself so busy that there hadn't been time for thoughts of him, of them, of what-ifs, and if-onlys.

Rory would tell her she should wallow, that she needed to acknowledge the grief. But wallowing was for acute pain, for the kind of pain that you felt in the aftermath of an event that you'd eventually recover from or move on from. She'd wallowed when she and Luke had broken up after her parents' vow renewal, because a little part of her hadn't given up hope that it was temporary, that they'd come to their senses and find their way out of it. The obstacles then felt surmountable, the mistakes she'd made less egregious.

Wallowing now means moving on and she isn't ready for that, not because she has any hope of reconciliation, but because she isn't ready to set aside the heavy burden of guilt that has settled on her shoulders. She's earned that guilt, needs to carry it around with her for awhile. Call it penance, call it punishment, but now that she can finally feel the full brunt of her spectacular stupidity, now that she has seen his pain up-close-and-personal, she can't bring herself to feel her own pain. At least not yet.

She lets her work distract her. It helps that these people don't really know her, that they're somewhat anonymous. They don't know how hard it is for her to hold herself together during the day. They don't know that she's not fully herself right now.

She doesn't think she could be around Sookie right now, which she knows is an awful thing to think, but her friend knows her well enough to know that everything is not right, and Sookie is too close to all of it to give her good counsel. When Sookie called to tell her how worried Luke was and to ask why she hadn't talked to him, it was only because of her distance from Stars Hollow that she was able to confess the full multitude of her sins to her friend. After a series of 'what were you thinking?' and 'how could you do that to Luke?' outbursts, Sookie had attempted understanding, though her words were tinged with disapproval. It had been no more - and no less – than Lorelai expected, and now when they check in with each other over the phone, in short installments, Sookie's disappointment feels bearable, deserved even.

Even though she misses the familiarity of home, it's easier to be here among the comfort of strangers, at least for a little while. As long as she can get through her day, and make it back to her room without thinking about him too much, then the day is a success. She spends the evenings immersing herself in the most amusing television she can find. She's got a line up of sitcoms in the early evening, and once that stretch of the evening ends, she digs into her DVDs. She's working her way through the UK version of _The Office_, and season one of the US version waits patiently for its turn.

It doesn't really stem the guilt, but it does balance it somewhat. It's a coping mechanism, nothing more, and she knows this, knows that she's existing rather than living, but for now that's enough.

During this week of carefully programmed distractions, she tries to pretend that she's not waiting for him to call again. But her phone is closer to her than it needs to be, and she glances at it too often, checking the little bars that indicate good coverage. There are always three bars, no more, no less, and her battery is always full. When she thinks about how pathetic she is, she wants to turn off her phone and bury it in her purse. Except that he has called. And when he does, every few days, she's disgusted at how happy she is to hear from him, at the way she hangs on to even this little bit of stilted contact.

He's called twice and it doesn't make her feel any better. There's really no way that it could. She steers clear of anything other than the most mundane conversation, and yet she's always disappointed that they haven't really said anything. Luke asks how she's doing and then they quickly move on to her work and Paul Anka. She wants to ask about him in return, or about April, but it all feels too sensitive, the pain too fresh to delve into quite yet. She tries to tell herself that it's enough to hear his voice, to know that he cares enough to call. But it's not, really.

The days after he calls are the worst ones. Today is one of those days. Even after only talking to him twice, Lorelai can sense a pattern developing – three days between calls – and Luke is nothing if not predictable. So there's no point in looking forward to the phone ringing today. In fact, it's ridiculous to even 'look forward' to his calls. They only make the guilt weigh down more heavily. They only remind her that this is the guy who will still look out for her even though she's trashed everything that existed between them. These are the days she feels the most pathetic.

Rory had offered to come up and spend this weekend with her. She hadn't said why, but Lorelai knows she wants to be with her tomorrow, June 3rd, to take care of her and wallow with her. She'd had to plead out of it, though. Rory wouldn't approve of this purgatory of existence, and Lorelai doesn't have the energy to make it more than that, even for a couple of days.

She's got her own plan for tomorrow, to distract her from the wedding-that-isn't. It's something she's given thought to because she's not naïve enough to think that it's not going to hurt.

She has scheduled herself for as full a day as she can, starting earlier than usual and working through dinner. She's gotten a few concerned inquiries, but she's brushed them off, saying she'll take some time off later in the month, hoping they'll forget by the time 'later' rolls around. The day itself is one of her harder ones, but by now she's perfected the smile that looks genuine but isn't.

Lorelai spends the day moving from the front desk to the dining room to the kitchen, doing everything from answering the phones to pouring coffee. She confirms the menu for the following week with the chef and goes through the details for a small luncheon with the inn's manager. When there are absolutely no more tasks to justify her hovering around the rest of the staff, she retreats to the office and tackles the pile of monotonous paperwork that she'd saved for today, crossing off her accomplishments on the never-ending list as she goes.

When she returns to her room at the end of the day, she calls Rory. She needs to do it now, to get it over with while she's still got the veneer of calm covering up her emotions.

When Rory answers with a surprised, "Mom?" Lorelai realizes that it's the first time she's called her daughter, though Rory has called a few times to check in. "How are you?" Rory's voice softens, her tone concerned. "Are you okay?"

Having spent the whole day distracting herself, Lorelai is able to say fairly convincingly, "I'm fine. I just got done working and I'm reheating my dinner." It's not quite true. She knows that she's using every last bit of her reserves to hold herself together, but she can't bring herself to show Rory her pain. Talking to Rory makes her feel a shame that's not the same kind of raw guilt she feels when talking to Luke, but rather a mother's shame at having so carelessly and needlessly complicating her daughter's life. It doesn't feel right to lean on her, to need her, when she's the one who has screwed up so enormously.

"That's a long day," Rory points out knowingly.

"A few of the staff needed a day off."

"Needed? Or did you schedule yourself like that on purpose?" Rory's words are direct, but her tone remains gentle.

"It was good to be busy," Lorelai admits reluctantly, "and I got a lot done." She pauses for only a moment before deliberately changing the subject. "How are you? Have you talked to Logan recently?"

Rory sighs at the obvious attempt at distraction. "He's fine. We talk almost every day. I think he actually likes some of the work he's doing."

They talk a little longer, Lorelai relieved to have the focus off of her. Rory and Luke always ask the same questions about her work and about Paul Anka, but at least discussing Logan's job and Rory's summer class schedule doesn't bring on the same uneasiness she feel at the prospect of asking Luke how things are going for him, or for April.

Lorelai's not sure how convincing she is, but she manages to bluff her way through some more small talk and a few more of Rory's worried questions. After several minutes, Lorelai begs off, having sufficiently heated the dinner she'd set aside earlier in her shift.

She's only one episode further into the _Office_ marathon, her picked-over dinner already set aside for Paul Anka to finish, when her phone rings. She wonders again, as she's done every time he's called, why she hasn't changed his ring back to something more generic than Monty Python's "Lumberjack Song."

She's still thinking this as she answers the phone, so it's not until she says his name that she realizes he didn't wait three days between calls this time.

He asks about the inn and Paul Anka, and she asks about the diner, and the whole time she's wondering what it means that he's calling today. She's impatient to know, actually physically bracing herself for that part of the conversation, but at the same time there's comfort in the routine of small talk.

"Lorelai," he says, his voice suddenly serious, and a little sharp, as if he wants to make sure he's got her attention. She holds her breath, her body still, waiting to hear what it is he called to tell her. She hears him take a breath and she wonders where he is, whether he's sitting or standing, if he's scratching the back of his head like he does when he's stressed. "I'm sorry." The words come out in one exhalation, in a puff of relief and sadness.

"For what?" To her ears, her voice sounds strangely calm, almost curious. She's not sure how she managed it.

"I'm sorry I couldn't give you June 3rd." His regret is palpable. She can feel it in his words and she tries to imagine his expression – wrinkled brow, eyes turned down at the corners, the neutral set of his mouth pushed just over the edge toward melancholy, and maybe his left hand moving from the back of his neck to massage his temples. "It wasn't too much for you to ask. I should have been able to give it to you."

She can't speak. It's too much and not enough, too late and too soon. Her brain can't put together a coherent thought or reaction and she has to remind herself to breathe.

He finally says, hesitantly, "Lorelai?"

"I don't…I don't know what to say," she answers, and it might be the most honest thing she's said during one of these calls.

"You don't have to…" he starts, his voice losing steam before finishing his thought. "But that's why I called. I just wanted to tell you-"

"Okay," she cuts in, knowing she would not be able to maintain her composure if he repeats it. She can feel how stiff her fingers are as they grip the phone, and though has no idea what to say, she's not sure she could force any words through the tightness in her throat if she tried.

There's another lull that she doesn't know how to fill, and he says slowly, as if he wants her to protest, "Well, I should go."

She wants to hold onto him, to try to make sense of this moment, but knows that she can't do that without breaking into tears. She nods as she says, "Okay, goodnight."

"Goodnight." She barely hears his response as she closes her phone and dissolves into sobs.

She'd spent the last week carefully hiding away her loss and regret, packing it tightly and holding it just out of reach, close enough that she can still feel the guilt, but far enough to keep the rest of the thoughts safely tucked away. The mental effort has made her physically weary, no more so than today, when the package feels particularly unwieldy.

But Luke's words untie the metaphorical strings and pull away the wrappings, letting loose a stream of feelings that hit her like an avalanche. She feels the loss of all she had imagined with Luke - all the should-have-beens and never-agains - and the pain is more wrenching for the guilt that accompanies it.

She can't stop the images from flashing through her mind: the look on his face when he saw her in her dress, the perfect little church, wedding bands on their intertwined hands, tiny brown-haired, blue-eyed children running through the yard of the house her parents had found for her, grandchildren, happiness, love, contentment. And she knows she'll never have any of it. She and Luke had their work cut out for them. They'd had their struggles, their differences. But she's the one who'd made them irreconcilable.

The next day she can barely find the strength to pull herself out of bed. It's only her concern for Paul Anka that gets her moving, and after filling his bowls and letting him out, she collapses again, falling onto the sofa into the safety of television comedy. She hadn't carefully planned _this_ day; she'd only worried about getting through the 3rd of June, not the 4th as well. But as she sits on the couch, she's suddenly hit with the full reality of her life. She can hardly move for the rubble that's settled around her, and she's sure it would be easier to just lie here among the shattered pieces of her future.

It takes every ounce of strength to get herself to work the next morning, and she feels the fatigue in every movement. It's harder and harder to force the required smile.

And she can't stop thinking of Luke. The degree to which she anticipates his next call scares her. As much as she tries to quash it, his words on Saturday leave her with what she knows is an unreasonable hope. His words are a tease, like an unattainable prize at a county fair. She knows that they are over; things have gone too far for reconciliation. But she can't stop thinking about that enormous stuffed teddy bear that costs more tickets than she could earn in three lifetimes of throwing rings over bottles. Luke's apology isn't enough to change their hopeless situation and instead it serves only to remind her of what she destroyed. It confirms what she's figured out already – that she doesn't deserve him, that maybe she isn't meant to have that kind of happiness.

But the expectation is there nonetheless, and by the time her shift ends on the third day she's almost jittery with nervous energy. It's a frightening, out-of-control feeling, this need to hear from Luke, and to talk to him.

When he does call that night, she knows not to have any expectations for their conversation, understands that they still need the small talk, but when it is just that, and no more, it doesn't stop the emotional crash from coming. It's as if he hadn't called on Saturday, hadn't made his out-of-the-blue apology. It hurts to have it unmentioned, but she rationalizes that he probably has no more idea how to talk about it than she does, and that even if he did, it wouldn't change anything. They are still irreparably broken. It's then that she knows that what she's set herself up for is unhealthy, that she's got to break this cycle before it breaks her further.

So, the next morning, when Alicia, the friendly, down-to-earth graduate student who waitresses for extra cash, asks her to come out to help celebrate the chef's birthday, she resists the overpowering urge to refuse and finds herself squashed around a big table with the eclectic mix of relative strangers she's been working with for almost a month.

The restaurant they go to is as much bar as eatery, with a beer selection to rival any pub she's ever been to, and the food is wonderful. It's such a relief to talk to people who don't even know Luke and she has whole stretches of time in which she doesn't think of him. It's an interesting group of people. There are the obligatory college students working at the inn during their summer vacation: the chef, Frank, with a man he introduces as his partner; the owners, a couple who'd left behind the stress of city life and high-powered jobs to buy this inn; and a few others who'd lived in Burlington all their lives.

Lorelai ends up sitting next to Stella, the dining room hostess she thinks could be anywhere between 35 and 50, who turns out to own an organic dairy farm with her husband. After a few polite inquiries, she begins to regale them with tales of learning to live with the forty-five cows that came along with the guy she married.

The evening is pleasant, fun even, and on the short walk back to the inn, Lorelai realizes it's the first time in a long time that she's laughed, that she's felt like more than just a shell of a person. She'd very intentionally left her phone in her room, both as an attempt to resist the need to check it constantly, and because it was a 'day-after' anyway. When she returns at the end of the night, she resists the temptation to check for messages, and feels just the slightest bit of self-control returning.

When she wakes, though, much of that strength is diminished, and she checks her messages, the action a connection of sorts and yet futile at the same time. The disappointment about the lack of messages is exacerbated by the fact that she should have known better than to hope there would be. She spends the day alternately looking forward to his next call and hating herself for being so pathetic. It takes her until the next day to admit to herself that she needs to break the dependence, that she needs to, at least for a little while, stop talking to Luke.

Though she expects him to call later, she knows that she needs to do it now before her resolve wavers. She dials his number out in full, speed dialing feeling somehow too familiar for where they stand now.

"Lorelai? Are you okay?" His immediate jump to concern startles her, and yet at the same time, it doesn't.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Just hearing him speak throws her into a partially numbed mood and she hears the hesitation in her voice. She pauses, and the emptiness between them prompts him.

"Did you…what…" She knows he must be struggling to figure out the reason for her call.

"I just," she pauses, selecting her words. "You're off the hook, Luke."

"What?"

"You don't need to check on me anymore."

His voice takes on a suspicious tone. "Lorelai, what's going on?"

She takes a breath, then lets the words tumble out, hoping that if there are enough of them that he'll just accept them without questioning, without pushing. "I appreciate you looking out for me, calling to check in and everything, but you don't have to. You shouldn't have to…"

"It's not a problem." His words sound cautious, tentative.

"But you don't need to," she insists quietly.

"I don't _need_ to or you don't _want_ me to?" There's a sharp, bitter edge to his voice now.

She doesn't answer immediately and she hears an angry huff that she knows is covering his hurt. Her head dips forward and she closes her eyes against the knowledge that she is once again causing him pain. She doesn't know how to explain this without telling him how hard it is to talk to him, to have him so close and yet so far away.

She can hear him breathing as he waits for her to pull together her thoughts. "I just need to be by myself for a little while, to figure things out," she says finally.

"How long?" he asks, his words brusque.

She closes her eyes tightly, saying softly, "I'm coming back to Stars Hollow on July 1st." It's not exactly an answer, but she prays silently that he'll let it go.

When he speaks, there's a finality in his voice that makes her want to retract her words, to go back in time and not make the call. "I guess I'll talk to you then." He pauses a beat, then says abruptly, "Bye, Lorelai."

She wishes for a moment that she didn't know him well enough to hear the sadness and pain hidden behind the anger and resentment.

It's enough to make her hesitate ever so slightly before closing her phone, but when she hears it snap shut, she knows that she's taken one small step toward digging herself out of the hole her life has become. That she might be able to find a way out of the wreckage after all.

_To be continued_


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** They're not mine; I'm just helping to fix them.

**Author's Note:** More huge thanks for the betas: **CineFille**, **iheartbridges**, and **Lula Bo**. This story wouldn't be the same without them.

* * *

**Burlington, Vermont – Mid-June**

Life still royally sucks, but odd as it seems, living without the anticipation of Luke's calls, makes it marginally easier. It's the kind of thing she'd have trouble explaining to someone if they asked, but it makes sense in her head. Looking forward to Luke's calls gave the minimal contact they'd had too much weight, too much importance. They'd made her want to give in to that tiny bit of hope she's been trying to banish from her thoughts.

Because, she tells herself, she needs to get used to this reality – this without-Luke reality. She needs to not make that little thread of communication into more than it was. She needs to force herself to live fully without him. It's the only way that she can heal herself.

Most of all, she needs to mend things with Rory. They hadn't completely recovered after their months of not speaking. They'd embraced their relationship eagerly enough, but hurt and guilt lingered in their interactions, like a slowly healing wound. Since their most recent fight, she and Rory are friendly enough, but something has shifted between them and though they've both been pretending that they're fine, Lorelai can feel the tension, the anger, and the questions building a strange sort of invisible force field between them. Each day, each week that passes makes it stronger and Lorelai knows that the first step in taking back her life is to find what she and Rory used to have.

Rory's words the night that she'd found out about her parents' latest indiscretion had stung like alcohol on an open cut, all the more for them being essentially true. And even though she's admitted that to herself, it's still been difficult to confide in her daughter, to open herself up to judgment again. But being judged, confronting the demons and banishing them, might be the only way to move on from this miserable non-living life she's constructed for herself.

It's been about a week since she'd cut herself off from Luke and it's as good a time as any for applying some ointment to the wound. She's not sure exactly what she's going to say to Rory, and at this point even a call is a move on her part.

When Rory answers, they go through the standard pleasantries, but after she's given her 'Paul Anka report' and before an uncomfortable lull sets in, Lorelai blurts out, "I'm sorry."

There's a brief moment of silence before Rory asks, "For what?"

"For…I don't know…for being a hypocrite. For acting like an idiot."

"Mom," Rory breathes out softly. "It's-"

"No," Lorelai interrupts. "Please don't."

"What?"

"Please don't tell me it's okay, or make excuses for me, or…or tell me it will get better. I screwed up big-time and everything sucks and I don't want you to let me off the hook for that."

She hears Rory let out a slow breath. "Fine. I don't want to argue with you anyway." There's a short pause, and then she continues, a touch of enthusiasm in her voice. "How about I come see you? Next weekend. I could probably get there by dinner time on Friday and I don't have to be back until the middle of the day on Monday."

"You don't have to do that. I'm not even going to be here much longer." The protest is half-hearted at best, put out there because it feels like she needs to give Rory an out, but she's relieved when her daughter insists.

"When am I ever going to get a chance to see Burlington, Vermont again?"

Lorelai lets out a little amused sigh, and says, "Probably not in this lifetime."

"Well, then, it's a plan. You better find all the rocking party places, cause we're going to paint the town."

"You mean, as in, I should make sure I know where the video store is so that we'll be well supplied?" Lorelai asks with a smirk.

"Yeah, I guess that's more our speed." Rory's voice softens. "It'll be good to see you. I've missed you, Mom."

"Yeah, me too." Lorelai takes a few deep breaths. "Hey kid?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"For what?"

"I don't know," Lorelai hesitates. "For putting up with your hopeless mother."

She swears she can hear Rory shaking her head. "You know Mom, you're the only one who thinks you're hopeless."

Now that she's made plans with Rory, put a piece of herself out there, she feels a relaxing of the muscles in her neck and shoulders, an ever so slight lightening of the pressure she's been feeling. It's not complete relief, by any means, but it's a start. Once she's put Rory's visit on the calendar, she begins to feel like she can look more than a day or two ahead, like she can see a future that, if not rosy, is at least a life.

It's the calendar, though, that brings it back again. Another date of unmade plans, of ideas never fully formed because to have made plans for Father's Day would have meant that Luke had decided to share his fatherhood with her.

When she'd first learned of April, she'd dreamed up ideas for how to celebrate Luke's first Father's Day that involved cheesy gifts, unceremonious mocking, and a family dinner. The longer Luke had gone without introducing her to April, the more she'd stalled on those plans and tried to stop thinking about them.

After April's birthday, she'd allowed herself another bit of brainstorming before losing all hope in the face of Anna's disapproval. She's not thought about it since, but the day is looming and she can't let it go by unnoticed. Because even if he won't share it with her, she needs him to know that she understands how big a deal this is, him being a father.

And more than anything, if this is really over, she needs him to know that it's not because of April. It's not about a little girl and her father, but about two adults who can't seem to be together without hurting each other.

And so she calls, choosing a time he'll be busy in the diner and dialing the number in his apartment. This, she knows she can do; she feels she needs to call, to let him know she's thinking of him, but talking to him directly, she's sure, would undo her.

* * *

"It's pretty."

They've paused for a moment in their walk to look out over the Winooski River, and the shops and restaurants that line the banks. Lorelai glances over at Rory, who's resting her elbows jauntily on the bridge railing. Her hair has gotten so long that when she tips her head to the side it spills over her clasped hands.

Lorelai turns her gaze back to the series of small waterfalls on the river in front of her. "Yeah it is," she muses, then adds brightly, "and the shopping is pretty good too."

"So, you haven't been neglecting the consumer marketplace?" Rory quips.

"No. No worries there," Lorelai says, her smile faint.

"This is one of the Burlington hotspots, then?"

Rory's been here for less than a day, but Lorelai can tell she's probing, gently trying to find out how her mother has been managing her life in the wake of the break-up. She hasn't gone into hard-core information gathering mode yet though, so they've still got some more time to catch up superficially, and Lorelai welcomes the chance to just be with Rory for the time being before they get into the talk she's sure they both know is coming. "I'm not sure if 'hotspot' is the right word for this town, but there are some good restaurants here." She adds, by way of explanation, "I've been out with the staff a couple of times, and Paul Anka and I sometimes end up here on our walks."

"It's good that you've been having fun with them." Rory's words are warm and heartfelt, but her eyes swim with pity and concern and Lorelai finds herself unable to meet them for more than a brief moment.

"They're a great bunch of people and it's been fun to explore the town a little bit. They even," she leans in toward her daughter and whispers conspiratorially, "dragged me out bike-riding one day on the bike path."

Rory raises her eyebrow skeptically, "Really? I'm having a hard time picturing it. You were actually pedaling? You weren't just hanging out on the back of a tandem bike letting the person in the front do all the work?"

"Rory!"

"No, seriously? The closest I've ever seen you to a bike was Kirk's pedi-cab. Do you have pictures?" she teases. "Because I'm not sure anyone would believe this without photographic evidence."

Lorelai smirks wryly. "Well it's not something you need to spread around. I don't want to ruin my rep." The brightness in her voice fades at the sudden image of Luke giving a snort of disbelief and shaking his head in amusement.

Rory flashes her a look of concern, but before she can say anything, Lorelai adds with forced levity, "At least with Paul Anka I have an excuse for taking a walk, so no one thinks I'm turning into some sort of a fitness nut or anything."

"Oh, don't worry. No one will ever accuse you of that," Rory says, laughing. There's still a glimmer of something like worry in her eyes, though, as she shifts the conversation to the possibilities for a lunch stop.

The real questions don't come until later, after they've picked up their take-out Chinese for dinner and settled on the couch in front of the television.

"You've been powering through the comedy. You finished _The Office_ already?"

Lorelai shrugs. "There aren't that many of them."

"I guess these will hold you for a while, though." Rory holds up the _Friends_ DVD case. "You're only on season two."

"Well, I've been saving 'The One With the Prom Video' for your visit. I figured you wouldn't want to miss out on the opportunity to mock Rachel and Ross – The Hideous Teen Years."

"Awww, The one with the lobsters," Rory says with a nostalgic smile as she reaches to put the DVD in the player.

Rory's turned away so she can't see Lorelai squeeze her eyes shut briefly, and cover her sharp intake of breath with a quick sip of soda. She'd thought about skipping over Ross and Rachel, Part I, moving right past the whole 'on a break' fiasco, and on to romantically 'safer' seasons, but she'd thought with Rory here, she could tackle it. That perhaps confronting it would be better in the long run. Right now though, it doesn't seem quite that simple.

"I'm going to get another soda," she says, lifting her empty soda can. "You want one?"

Oblivious to her mother's inner turmoil, Rory nods absently. "Sure. Thanks."

With plates filled, drinks refreshed, and legs curled underneath them, they start up the DVD. Half an hour later, the plates lay empty on the coffee table and as Ross and Rachel finish their first date, Lorelai brings her legs up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her ankles and resting her chin on her knees.

When she drops her gaze from the television and starts drawing patterns on her socked foot, Rory looks over and asks softly, "Mom, how are you doing? Really."

She doesn't answer, her only acknowledgement of the question as small sigh as she continues tracing the spaces between her toes with her index finger. She thinks about evading again, telling her that she's dealing, that it's only a matter of time, but the too-perfect television romance is making her feel vulnerable and sad, and simply too tired to play out the charade. "It's hard," she answers quietly. "It's really, really hard."

"He came up here, right?"

Lorelai just nods, her eyes squeezed shut.

Rory asks gently, "And you told him?"

Another nod. "It was…awful. Rory, I really hurt him."

"He hurt you too." Lorelai just shrugs, and Rory goes on, "Have you talked to him since then?"

"He called…we talked a few times, not really about anything, but I asked him to stop."

Rory's head tilts up at that and she asks with surprise, "Why?"

Lorelai's turned her head so that her cheek rests on one knee and she kneads her fingers while she answers. "It was just too hard. Talking to him. It made it too hard. I need to get used to not talking to him."

"But maybe you guys can…" Rory starts hopefully. "Maybe you can work it out,"

Lorelai is shaking her head even before Rory gets the words out. "I can't. It's not going to…It's just over. I killed it."

Rory is biting her lip, looking thoughtful. In an attempt to ward off encouraging platitudes, Lorelai goes on, "He's one of the best things that ever happened to me. I don't how it fell apart so completely. I think sometimes…sometimes I think this was a test – everything that happened with Luke. That fate…" Her voice trails off and she stretches out her arms in front of her. "Fate. He'd hate that. Luke would hate that, but I don't know…" Rory's looking at her with eyes full of sadness, and she needs to explain. "It was all coming at me and it was like the whole series of events was just the way that the powers-that-be were checking to see if I was really ready for all this, if I really deserved to have it all." Lorelai spreads her hands apart in a wide hopeless shrug. "And what they found out was that I wasn't. That when things get too difficult, I screw up as spectacularly as usual."

Rory tilts her head and fixes her with a skeptical gaze. "Mom, I know that David Boreanaz is back on television, and maybe that's making you have those creepy dreams where you're in an all-white room asking the higher powers to erase the experience of "Magnolia" from your mind, but he's not a vampire anymore, and those all-powerful beings were _fictional_." She enunciates every syllable of the last word for emphasis and as sad and forlorn as Lorelai feels, she can't help but crack a smile.

It fades, though, and she says, "I just thought we were supposed to be together, that we were 'meant to be.'" She raises her hands to make air quotes, then sighs. "But I guess we weren't."

"Says who?"

Lorelai looks up, surprised at the way that Rory's voice slices through the blanket of unhappiness that surrounds her.

"Nobody can decide that for you. You either believe in the relationship or you don't. You don't have to prove anything to anyone but yourself."

"And Luke," Lorelai adds pointedly.

Rory shakes her head. "No, he has to believe in it too, but it's not up to you. He has to do that on his own."

Lorelai narrows her eyes. "Who took my daughter and replaced her with Dr. Phil?"

Rory smirks, but then eyes her mother seriously. "It's just that you both screwed up. You both hurt each other. It can't just be about what you did or about what he wants."

With her arms still wrapped around her legs, Lorelai shrugs one shoulder, jostling her head in the process. "There's no way he could want-"

Rory cuts her off before she can finish. "Maybe, maybe not, but it's like you're not even letting yourself think about what you want."

Though her eyes are averted, she can literally feel Rory's patient gaze on her. She takes a few deep breaths. "I just want it to stop hurting so much. I don't know when I'm going to stop having to work so hard to get through the day."

Rory's only response is to slide across the sofa and wrap her arms around her mother. They stay like that for a long time, Rory silently supportive as Lorelai, for the first time in weeks, lets go of the façade of normalcy she's built around herself. Lets herself, for a brief time, not be strong.

For the rest of the weekend, they live in the same little cocoon of warmth and support. Lorelai lets herself lean on Rory, relieved that she doesn't have to pretend, and Rory lets her be whatever she needs to be: hurt, sad, strong, cheerful.

* * *

After Rory leaves, as Lorelai anticipates returning home, knowing how painful it will be, she gains strength from knowing that her daughter is in her corner. Knowing that as hard as it will be, she'll be that much closer to Rory. It allows her to actually look forward to seeing Stars Hollow, and her own inn.

She misses her inn, misses that feeling she gets when she walks in the door. Even though it's been more than two years since it opened, she still gets a warm glow of accomplishment from the thought that she and Sookie created the Dragonfly, that they've lived their dreams, or in her case, at least some of them.

The inn, too, will be a key part of rebuilding her life, using the things that are uniquely hers. It will start with some of the projects she's got on her Dragonfly to-do list: promote the inn as a location for business lunches, create an incentive program for repeat guests, and create a guide of local attractions.

During her last days in Vermont, she lets herself get excited about her job again, in a way that she's been too preoccupied to be for a while. And thinking about it takes her mind off the thing she's dreading – going home. Going back to her house to live there really and truly alone. As much as she knows she needs to conquer it, she can't get the heavy feeling of anxiety out of her gut.

When she does return to Stars Hollow, late in the afternoon on the first of July, she doesn't try to delay the pain by visiting Sookie or 'checking in' at the Dragonfly. She goes straight home. Once she's unlocked the door and let Paul Anka loose inside, she heads straight for the kitchen, forcing herself to take it in, knowing that the room has now been relegated back to take-out and frozen waffles. She doesn't linger too long; she's got a whole house to conquer.

Rory's room isn't on her planned itinerary, because it would be more a refuge than anything else, but it's home to memories of Luke's reassurance, of the way that he served as a rock to her during the entirety of her fight with Rory. So she goes inside and runs her fingers along the back edge of the armchair that still sits in the corner, before turning and walking to the living room.

She spends a few more minutes in the living room. It's been the center of so much of what they started to build here. Nights curled on the sofa watching movies, nights curled together in their bed during the renovation, and prior to dating, the place they'd had so many warm moments of friendship. She lets the memories flow around her, creating little eddy currents in her wake as she slowly circles the room. When she feels like she's seen them, experienced them once again, she mentally packs them away, then takes a breath and climbs the stairs.

It's hardest tackling the memories in this room – the one in which she'd made room for him. These memories more are intimate and personal than the rest. Times that she bared herself, literally and figuratively, to the man she loves. Times that he bared himself to her. She thinks that the memories are that much more powerful because this had always been her room, her own refuge, until she'd let Luke in.

A few minutes later, when she brings in her bags and unpacks her clothes, instead of shoving aside the clothes she'd left behind, the ones that remind her so strongly of him, she forces herself to mingle all the clothes together. All except for the wedding dress, which remains in the far recesses of the closet.

And later, after she's eaten the pizza she'd had delivered and exhausted her interest in television, she forces herself to come back upstairs and sleep in the bed with the linens they'd chosen together, next to 'his' nightstand, with pillow cases that she swears still carry a bit of his scent.

Tucked under the covers, she's having trouble remembering how she slept before she and Luke were together. Did she stick to one side of the bed more than the other or did she sprawl across the middle? Did she curl in the fetal position or lay flat on her back? It's even more difficult to remember the nights 'before Luke,' considering that this isn't the same bed she'd slept in then. This is 'their' bed, the one they chose together to replace the hideousness that had been his grandmother's furniture.

She'd gotten so used to living and sleeping alone, even when she was 'sleeping with' someone, that she'd been surprised at how quickly she'd gotten used to waking up next to Luke. Sliding over and wrapping herself around his warm body, the weight of his arm around her waist, kisses across her neck and shoulders as prelude to sleepy sex. She felt like she finally got it, what it meant to really have someone, a partner. She'd finally understood what she'd been missing all those years, and at the same time understood that the comfort and safety she'd felt was not because of having someone, but because of who she'd had.

As she lies there, she wonders if perhaps this is a touch too much torture, if she's going overboard with her need to conquer her sadness. She's just not sure there's any place she could escape it.

* * *

Over the next few days, it's easy to bury herself in work. There's a lot of catch-up to do and when the only reason to go home is to feed and walk Paul Anka, she finds she doesn't spend much time there. It's a bit of odd chance then, that she's home in grungy sweats and an old t-shirt when Luke comes by with coffee and pie.

She's baffled by his presence – by the kind gesture and by the sudden appearance of his bitterness. She can't make sense of the signals he's sending and, she realizes, it's possible that he doesn't know himself what to think.

When he tells her he can't decide whether to kiss her or never speak to her again, she's sure he doesn't know how hard it is for her to stand there, to hold herself back from leaping into his arms, begging him to take her back. In that moment, she thinks, she'd prefer what she'd had – being an afterthought in his life – than this emptiness.

But she can't have him back like that, not when the anger and hate are as present in his expression as the love. She can't look at him and see that in his eyes, can't let that be enough for her. And so, she just stands there, unable to move, afraid to ask for the one thing she wants, knowing it's the one thing she can't have.

Finally, she asks if those are the only options, and after a bit of stumbling over words, he invites her to the diner. In the resulting silence it feels like they've made a sort of unspoken compromise, that they've agreed to try to figure out how to be without being together.

It takes her four days to carry out her end of the bargain and will herself back to the diner. She chooses the time carefully. The diner routines are so much a part of her that she knows just the time when the diner won't be totally empty, but won't be full of inquisitive eyes either.

It's awkward and weird, and necessary, she thinks. He needs to know that she accepts this – the consequences of their actions – that she doesn't have any unreasonable hopes. The money she leaves him on the table is her way of saying that she understands that they need to move on, and get past this.

After all, he'd said that even when he'd hated her, he'd loved her. _Loved_. That says it all, she thinks.

_To be continued_


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** They're not mine. I'm just borrowing them long enough to fix them.

**Author's Note: **The betas: **CineFille**, **iheartbridges**, and **Lula Bo**, are, as always, stupendous and if I were half as clever as them, it wouldn't have been quite so difficult to edit this chapter.

* * *

She feels pathetic. She's told herself that she is tired of sitting at home, tired of pizza. But she's really thinking about Luke and making up reasons to walk by the diner. Most of the time she's brought Paul Anka with her, his walk her reason for being in the middle of town and also a convenient excuse for not actually entering the diner. This time though, she's alone and headed for Teriyaki Joe's to get some dinner, at least that's what she tells herself. But when she approaches the diner, she slows, trying to surreptitiously glance through the windows across the street, and pretending to be interested in the shop windows so that she can linger. She feels like she's in junior high, walking by a boy's locker, hoping he'll notice her. The difference is that she can't decide what she wants this guy to do.

She'd thought they had a handle on everything. She'd been visiting the diner and getting comfortable, getting used to living on her own again, and most of all, getting used to being 'not-with' Luke.

Until she'd run into April and the signals got all confused. He wasn't supposed to welcome her into April's life now, not after separating her from his daughter so completely. And he wasn't supposed to kiss her, not when his eyes still held so much doubt.And she wasn't supposed to like it, and stay awake at night thinking about his lips on hers.

She shakes the thoughts out of her head, firm in her resolve as she turns toward Joe's.

"Lorelai?"

The voice is out of context here on the street, so much so that she has to spin to confirm that it's April speaking behind her. "Oh, hi," she manages. She gestures toward the bike that April is in the process of dismounting. "Are you just getting here?"

"Yeah. I'm doing a biotechnology program this week at the high school, so I couldn't get here until now." She glances at her watch. "Wow. No wonder I'm starving. I need a hamburger, like, now." She turns her bike to walk it across the crosswalk, then looks back toward Lorelai, tipping her head in the direction of the diner. "That's where you're going, right? We can hang out while we eat."

"Well…uh…" She doesn't know how to say no to this girl, who's so confidently earnest. She doesn't really _want_ to say no. She wants to get to know this person who's so important in Luke's life. So she nods, and says hesitantly, "Sure, let's have dinner. That sounds good."

She follows April across the street, waiting while she locks her bike and hanging back as they enter the diner.

She watches a smile spread across Luke's face when he sees his daughter. "HeyApril. You want a…?" His voice trails off when he sees Lorelai, his face surprised. "Lorelai. Hey," he says lamely.

"Yeah, look," April says, pointing back at Lorelai and grinning. "I found her outside and she said she'd eat with me."

"Good. That's good," he says, turning back to Lorelai. "Do you, uh, know what you want? I can get it started right away." He gestures nervously toward the kitchen, but his smile is warm, reassuring, and she returns it.

"Hamburger and onion rings?"

He nods, then turns toward the kitchen. Lorelai is still watching him retreat when April speaks up, "Hey Lorelai, do you watch _Project Runway_?"

"What?"

"_Project Runway_. It just seems like something you'd watch, and the new season is starting this Wednesday."

"Oh right. I knew that. I just lost track of when it started up again."

"So, you do watch it?"

"Yeah, I got hooked this past winter." She pauses, furrowing her brow. "Do _you_ watch it?" She wants to think it seems a little girly for Luke's 'science fair/math team' daughter, but then she remembers the birthday party and has to remind herself that April is a teenage girl, after all.

"One of my friends started watching it and she kept talking about it all the time. It was Tim Gunn this and Heidi Klum that, and pretty soon we were getting together every week to watch it." She gives Lorelai a little grin. "I even got my mom hooked."

Lorelai feels her body freeze at the mention of Anna, but she responds with a weak smile. "I can believe that."

"And this week, they're going to have to make stuff using only the things in their apartments. It's like this science team event we did where they just gave us a bunch of equipment and we had to come up with our own experiment and collect data. Almost everyone did some sort of pendulum experiment, because it was such an obvious option, but we measured how the length of the string affected the amount of stretch-" She cuts herself off and glances up at Lorelai, looking sheepish. "I'm babbling."

"No, that sounds cool," Lorelai says, smiling at the girl's energy. She leans in and asks, "So, how did you do?"

"We won, but we did have a former gold medalist on our team," April says, with a nonchalant shrug. "I just can't wait to see what kinds of things they have in their apartments, and how they use them."

Once Lorelai realizes they're back to talking about television again, she chuckles. "It'll be like fashion meets MacGyver. Definitely 'must-see' TV."

Luke brings their drinks, and then a few minutes later, their burgers, but the diner is fairly busy, so he leaves them to chat throughout dinner. As cautious as she feels about getting to know April, as unsure as she is about where her relationship with Luke stands, April's enthusiasm is infectious and she finds herself taken in by it. When April suggests they eat together the next time April's at the diner, Lorelai looks to Luke briefly, and off his encouraging nod, she agrees.

She wants to tread carefully here, to be sure that Luke is genuinely comfortable with her knowing April, and to keep from getting herself too involved, so she doesn't linger over dinner and turns down the pie that Luke offers after she finishes her burger.

She thanks April for suggesting that they eat together and then slides some money across the counter toward Luke, saying, "Bye. Thanks for dinner."

He glances at the bills on the counter and starts, "You don't-" but then he pauses and his shoulders fall as he says, "It's good to see you."

Lorelai smiles in relief, "I'll see you soon." She looks to April and continues, "And I'll see you Thursday, right?"

"Right. And we'll compare notes about _Project Runway_."

"_Project Runway_?" Luke asks, a skeptical look on his face.

"It's a reality show about fashion. I bet you'd love it," April teases.

As Lorelai leaves, she chuckles as she hears Luke responding, "I wouldn't count on me watching anything with 'runway' in the title unless it has to do with airplanes taking off. And don't get me started on reality shows."

During the next week, Lorelai is in the diner at least once a day, sometimes just for a quick coffee stop, and sometimes for a meal. She eats with April a few times, at April's invitation, though she always looks to Luke for approval before accepting.

She and Luke are…friendly. He seems genuinely glad to see her, and in some ways it reminds her of the time before they started dating, when they could show concern for each other and share stories about their day, but they didn't have any responsibility toward each other. So, it's almost like that, except that she's not sure they'll ever really be at that level of comfort again. Everything she says now is run through a filter in her brain that keeps her from saying anything too flirty or too heartfelt. Everything is just a tiny bit tense.

And she always pays. Every time.

* * *

"They're back," she says, as soon as she hears Rory answer the phone.

"Mom?" Rory asks, sounding confused. "What? Who's back?"

"Your grandparents."

"How do you know? Did Grandma call?"

"No, but it's July 16th. They're due back today and I think I just felt the air shift."

She hears Rory sigh, "Mom…"

"And you know what that means, right? This Friday will be another episode of 'Confessions of a Female Disappointment.' You'll be there, right?" she pleads. "Please tell me that you'll be there."

"Mom, I've got that college newspaper editors' conference this weekend," Rory explains, adding, "I told you about that."

"You did?" Lorelai closes her eyes briefly, but then continues her argument. "Did you tell me it was _this_ weekend? Are you sure that you can't come for a quick dinner? Maybe with good behavior, we can both get out early."

Rory sighs, answering patiently, "Yes, I did tell you it was this weekend, and no, I can't come for dinner at all, because the conference starts Friday afternoon in New York."

"How can you leave me alone like this?" Lorelai wails, playing it out for full dramatic effect. "Sending me into dangerous territory with only my wit and charm to protect me." She grimaces. "Neither of which are at all effective against the likes of Richard and Emily Gilmore."

"Yeah, they're a veritable pack of wolves," Rory says, her tone teasing.

Lorelai quips back, "Sacrificing your mother to the wolves. Where is the love, I ask you?" Rory laughs and Lorelai chuckles in response before sobering and saying quietly, "It's going to be horrible."

"No, it's not," Rory says gently.

"Yes, it is."

Rory sighs. "Okay, I'll give you that, but Mom, why do you have to tell them anything?"

"What? My own progeny encouraging dishonesty?" Lorelai answers in mock outrage. She pauses, then says, "You know nothing good ever comes from hiding things from my parents."

"I know, but what's there to tell? You and Luke are talking again. You're hanging out with April. It's only a matter of time…"

"No," Lorelai says sharply, "don't do that, Rory. It's over. We're…I don't know what we are, but we're not together." Her voice is firm in its emphasis.

"But don't you even want-"

Lorelai cuts in, "It doesn't matter what I want."

"Doesn't it?"

Lorelai swallows hard, and she has to work to keep her voice steady. "I just can't let myself go there. I have to get over it. This is hard enough without getting myself all invested again. Please just believe me when I say that it's over, okay?"

"Okay. I'm sorry, Mom," her words soft and sincere. "I just want you to be happy."

"I know, and I will be." She takes a breath before saying, "Hey, you know what would make me really happy?"

"What?" Rory asks sincerely.

"You coming to Friday Night Dinner this week."

"Nice try, Mom."

* * *

The next day, Lorelai debates going to the diner for dinner. By now, she's familiar enough with April's schedule that she knows April will be there, but since she hadn't been explicitly asked to come by, she delays her visit so as not to impose too much.

When she walks in and Luke gives her a welcoming smile, she almost wonders what she'd been worried about.

April turns around at the sound of the bell over the door and says cheerfully, "Lorelai! I'm glad you're here. I was hoping to see you today."

Her greeting is typically friendly, and Lorelai feels the soft warmth of approval wash over her. The more time Lorelai spends with April, the more she finds herself letting down her guard and allowing herself to truly have fun again. At the same time, it doesn't escape her notice how ironic and backwards it is that even as she's growing more comfortable with April, talking to Luke still makes her insides tighten with anxiety.

Luke gives Lorelai a casual nod from the other end of the counter as April gestures for Lorelai to take the seat beside her, starting to whisper before Lorelai has a chance to sit down. "I thought I wasn't going to have a chance to see you before-" April looks briefly around the diner, "Wednesday."

"Wednesday?" Lorelai asks, keeping her voice low to match April's whisper. "Oh, _Project Runway_, right? Have you heard what this week's challenge is? I can't wait to see if Vincent comes completely unglued." She smiles, amused, but looks up to see April shaking her head.

"No, Luke is taking me to a movie!"

"Oh that's nice," Lorelai responds, her voice returning to its normal volume. "What are you going to see?"

"_Mystic Pizza_," April answers, her voice decidedly unexcited.

"Oh, that's a great movie! Rory and I have seen it tons of times. Are they showing it at the bookstore?"

"Yeah, and Luke saw it and thought that I would like it, because it's about girls growing up in Connecticut." Lorelai shrugs and nods. "But," April continues, her voice a whisper again, "it's a 'coming of age' film, right?"

"Uh…yeah," Lorelai says, wondering where this is going.

"Meaning kissing, probably sex?"

"Uh…"

"Luke doesn't even like the idea of me liking a boy." She stops for a moment to explain. "I told him I liked this boy, Freddy, and now every once in a while he asks about him, and he tries to be all casual, but I think it wigs him out."

The thought makes Lorelai want to laugh out loud, but April looks so serious that she restrains herself to a small smile.

"See?"

"See, what?"

"He is weird about it. And he wants to take me to a movie where we're going to have to watch kissing-"

"And sex," Lorelai adds reluctantly.

"And sex," April sighs. "I don't know if I can sit next to him while people are kissing, or..." Her voice trails off. "It's going to be weird."

"Oh, it'll be fine," Lorelai reassures her. "And it's cool that he wants to take you out to see a movie."

"I guess," April says slowly. "Hey wait! You should come with us!"

"To the movie? I don't know. Your dad wants to take _you_ to see it."

"Yeah, but he won't mind having you come." She says this with such certainty that it makes Lorelai wonder where April got that idea, but then she shakes off the thought and reminds herself that it's a teenage thing, to sound so sure.

"I don't want to intrude though. Your dad doesn't get to spend much time with you."

"I'm sure it would be okay, but I can ask him if you want."

"Uh…okay," Lorelai says hesitantly.

The words are barely out of her mouth when she hears April call, "Luke?" He looks over at them from the other end of the counter, and she continues, "Is it okay if Lorelai comes with us to the movie on Wednesday?"

Lorelai cringes at the less than subtle question and watches Luke look first surprised, then give a tentative smile, "Sure…okay. If she wants to." He glances toward Lorelai. "Do you…want to?"

She looks him directly in the eye, trying to tell him with her expression how sincere she is. "Only if it's okay with you."

"It's okay. It'll be fun," he says, tipping his head in agreement before turning back to take an order.

She nods and he goes back to working. Lorelai looks over and shrugs at April. "I guess I'm going, then."

"That's a relief. Don't get me wrong. I love hanging out with Luke, but he's really weird about the whole 'guy' thing and with you around, he won't be worrying about me."

Lorelai has only a moment to consider what exactly April means by that statement before she goes on, smiling, "You know, I'm really glad you and Luke are back together. He's been a lot happier since you came back from your trip."

The anxious feeling from earlier clamps down with a death grip on her gut. "Oh, April, we're not…" She pauses and takes a breath. "We're not back together. I'm not sure we're ever…"

"But you're here a lot…hanging out," April insists, her voice is confused but analytical, as though she's arguing facts in a legal case or something.

"I know…we're…friends," Lorelai says, stumbling over the words, "but I did something that really hurt Luke and I don't know…I don't know that we're ever going to get over it."

April frowns slightly, "But he said he was an idiot, that he hurt you, too. And you've been talking, so…"

"He said that?" Lorelai asks, not even hearing the second sentence.

"Yeah."

Lorelai wants to smile, to take a moment to think about what it means that Luke had said that to his daughter, but April has this hopeful look on her face and Lorelai feels compelled to say, "They're just really big, the things that happened, so I don't know…I don't think we can get over them."

April looks at her for a long moment, and then shrugs and says, "I hope you try."

Lorelai can't even begin to make sense of what she's feeling or consider formulating a response, but luckily Luke appears to ask what she'd like to eat. After she orders and Luke walks away to make her food, Lorelai looks over at April and in an attempt to change the subject says, "So do you have any big plans for the week? Your biotech program is over, right?"

A look flickers across April's face that tells Lorelai that April's onto her evasion, but she answers, "Yeah, that was just last week. There's not much going on this week, but my mom and I are going to see my grandmother on Saturday, so we'll be getting ready for that."

"That's cool. Where does she live?"

"New Mexico."

"Wow, that's quite a trip. Hey, Grand Canyon, though, right?"

"Actually, " April corrects, "that's in Arizona."

Lorelai slaps her forehead. "That's right. I'm an idiot."

April shrugs. "I have been, though. It's about a six-hour drive from Albuquerque."

"It must be awesome," Lorelai says, impressed, then adds, "and it'll be nice for you to see your grandmother."

"Yeah," April muses. "I don't get to see her very often, so when I do it's fun to catch up."

Luke brings Lorelai's food, and while she eats she and April continue to chat about the plans for her trip until April has to leave. Lorelai stays for a few more minutes and when Luke refills her coffee, before he turns to replace the pot, she says, "Hey, Luke?"

"Yeah?"

"About the movie…" she starts.

"What?" he asks, his expression turning wary.

"I just," she starts hesitantly, but then the words spill out over each other, "if you don't want me to come, I don't have to. I can come down with something, you know, dengue fever or measles or something."

"You could get dengue fever?" he asks, the corners of his mouth curving into a smile.

"Well, whatever would work."

"You don't have to get sick."

"I just don't want to impose."

"You're not," he says decisively. "Do you _want_ to come?"

"Not if I'm going to-"

"Stop. You're coming. Okay?"

"Okay," she says, feeling chastened, and even more thoroughly confused about where everything stands.

* * *

Two days later, the three of them are settled in their seats in the bookstore, and Lorelai is no closer to figuring out what any of it means. It's like a date, except that it's really, really not. She's sitting here next to Luke, seeing a movie, but April is on his other side, and there's that whole 'we're not together' thing hanging out there.

She tries to stay in the background, letting Luke and April whisper, listening to her tease him about trying to figure out what's in the secret pizza sauce. Lorelai hasn't had very many opportunities to see them together, but she can tell that there is an ease to their interactions that's developed even since the birthday party. As much as April worried about being uncomfortable with Luke at a romantic movie, they seem pretty comfortable now, joking and laughing and sharing popcorn, even as both of them make an effort to include Lorelai.

For her part, she makes sure to anticipate certain scenes so that she can conveniently distract Luke by asking for some popcorn, or teasing him with candy. April shoots her grateful glances in response.

When the film pauses and Kirk calls for an intermission, April asks, "Intermission? There's really an intermission?"

Lorelai chuckles, "Well, some call it intermission, some call it the time during which Kirk changes the film reels. It is a good opportunity for a bathroom break, though. And, speaking of which…" Her voice trails off as she points to the bathroom. "I'll be right back."

When she returns, Luke has gone off on a tear about pompous food critics, and April is arguing good-naturedly with him. Lorelai can't help but join in with the teasing, and for just a moment it all feels comfortable, right. Until it isn't. Until she reminds herself that this isn't real.

The whole thing makes her want to cry in frustration, because this, this is all she wanted. To be able to know April and hang out with her. And it makes sitting here awkward and confusing, because she doesn't know what's going on, why she's here.

Most of all, she wants to know why he's letting her share this now.

She's left with all these thoughts throughout the movie and when April excuses herself to go to the bathroom during the second intermission, she struggles to find something to say to Luke.

Finally she gets out, "You and April are getting along well."

He ducks his head a bit when he looks back at her shyly. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." She nods, and gives him a genuine smile. "Seriously Luke, you're a natural."

She can see how hard he's trying not to blush, and it's so adorable that it melts away a little of the tension. He looks down at his hands and says quietly, "Yeah well, _you_ and April are getting along really well, too."

She's not exactly sure how to interpret that, so she stammers, "Are you…uh…okay with that?"

He lifts his head quickly, looking concerned at her tone. He nods slowly, saying, "I'm definitely okay with it."

Relief floods through her and she gives him a small smile in response. He looks like he's about to say something more, but the reassurance she's getting makes her feel a little bold.

"Luke, what are we…what are we doing?"

"What do you mean?" She can see him evaluating, wondering if she's really asking what he things she's asking. She suddenly regrets the question, because too many of the possible answers are painful and hopeless.

She takes a deep breath. "I don't know what anything means anymore. I don't know why I'm here." Her voice falls almost to a whisper, "I don't know why you invite me back to the diner. I just don't know what _we_ are anymore."

"We're…I don't know…figuring it out," he says hesitantly.

"What does that-" Lorelai cuts herself off when she sees April heading toward them. "April!"

Luke just sighs and gives her an anguished look before turning to April to find out if she wants more popcorn. During the rest of the movie, he gives Lorelai questioning looks, but doesn't say anything more.

After the movie, the three of them leave the bookstore and before they get very far, Lorelai gestures in the general direction of her house and says quickly, "I'm gonna go home. But, thanks so much for inviting me. It's a great movie." She turns to April and says warmly, "Have a great time with your grandmother."

"I will. Keep up with _Project Runway_ while I'm gone. We'll have a lot to talk about when I get back," she says with a grin.

Luke snorts and shakes his head, "Stupid reality TV. I can't believe you want to watch people make fools out of themselves."

Lorelai looks over to see April rolling her eyes and they share an amused glance. "There he goes again. He's got a killer reality TV rant," April says, shaking her head.

Luke looks at both of them darkly and Lorelai says to April, "I don't know, I think the sheer awesomeness that is Tim Gunn could bring even Luke over to the dark side of fashion.

She and April share a laugh while Luke glares at them, just seriously enough to make Lorelai wonder if they've gone too far with the teasing. "Well, I should go. Bye, April. Bye, Luke." She watches him for a moment to make sure he's not angry, but even though he looks serious, his eyes are warm when he asks lightly, "I'll see you, right?"

"Yes, definitely," she says airily. "You've got the coffee."

"That I do."

* * *

For the next two days, that's all it is – quick stops for coffee. She doesn't leave any time for real conversation, because she's nervous about the unanswered question hanging out there. She thinks she can see from his tentative expression that it's on his mind too.

On Friday, when she starts to leave, he asks casually, "Are you coming by for dinner later?"

"If only I could," she jokes.

"Why? What's going on?"

"Friday Night Dinner," she says ominously.

He nods. "Oh."

"Yeah. My parents just got back from Europe." She grimaces. "They've been there for two months."

"Oh…" he says knowingly.

She swallows, and tries to keep her voice light, "So yeah, not too much fun. And Rory can't come either," she adds with an exaggerated pout.

He smiles, then takes a deep breath and says, "Come by afterwards for some pie." Looking her directly in the eye, he adds, "On me."

The intense look in his eye is just about more than she can take, so she says jokingly, "Well, if your idea of fun is to listen to me complain about my parents…"

He plays along and for that she's grateful. "It's one of my favorite hobbies."

* * *

That night at dinner, she manages to hide her left hand for all of forty-three minutes. She'd been hoping to make it further through dinner, to leave the unpleasantness for the end, so that she can slip out and leave her parents with a week to cool down, time to let their disappointment fade.

She makes it through salad, but she finds herself unable to avoid passing food to her mother, who's sitting on her left.

She sees the narrowing of the eyes just before her mother commands, "Let me see your hand."

Lorelai instinctively wraps her left hand in her right and buries both in her lap.

"Why won't you let me see it?" Emily asks suspiciously.

"Mom, don't worry about it," Lorelai pleads.

"I most certainly _will_ worry about it."

"What's wrong, Emily?" Richard asks from the far end of the table.

"Lorelai's hiding her left hand for some reason," Emily answers, then turns to Lorelai. "You're being utterly ridiculous."

Shaking her head in frustration, Lorelai sighs. "Fine." She holds up her hand, displaying her empty ring finger.

"Your ring is gone." Given all the fuss, the surprise in her voice is almost comical.

"I know, Mom."

"Why are you not wearing your engagement ring?"

She says it fast, to get the confession out as quickly as possible, "Because we broke up. Luke and I, we broke up."

"Why?"

"It's complicated."

The response is that hybrid of accusation and whining that her mother does so well. "That's what you always say when you don't want to tell us anything." Emily sniff disapprovingly. "Is this because you didn't want to meet that daughter of his?"

"Her name is _April_," Lorelai says with a frustrated sigh, "and I didn't _not_ want to meet her. It just didn't work out."

"Lorelai, that's not good enough. Richard, tell her that's not good enough."

Richard obliges, his tone patronizing, "Lorelai, have you really thought this through? You really shouldn't make such a decision on a whim. Certainly 'it didn't work out' is a rather vague reason to end a year-long engagement, don't you think?"

Lorelai gives up, letting out a long breath as she flings her arms to the side before letting them fall into her lap.

"Not if he doesn't want to marry you, it isn't."

"Why on earth doesn't he want to marry you?" Emily asks. "I can't imagine how he thinks he can do better ." There's an odd emphasis in the words and Lorelai marvels that her mother can simultaneously make it sound like neither she nor Luke are worthy of each other.

"Mom!" Lorelai says sharply, anger covering the hurt. "I don't want to get into this right now."

"Well, when?"

"I don't know. How about never?" Lorelai snaps back.

"That's unacceptable."

"Mom, it's _my_ life. Just let me deal with it."

"Because you're dealing with it so well right now?"

"God, Mom." The disappointment and criticism are just as expected. Some of the words are so close to what she'd imagined her parents would say that she feels like she should have ready-made retorts handy. But she's just so tired of all of it that she can't bear to rehash it yet again. Trying to keep the hurt out of her voice, Lorelai pleads, "Give it a rest, okay?"

Richard's voice carries across the room again. "Your mother is only trying to understand, Lorelai. We both are. What possible reason could there be for Luke ending the engagement?"

Lorelai pushes back from the table and stands up. "I'm not talking about this anymore." She walks out of the dining room, and she's made it halfway across the foyer when she hears her mother's footsteps behind her.

"So, what now? You're going to sneak out of the window?"

Lorelai turns to glare at her mother. "No, Mom. I'm not going to sneak out the window. I'm just getting some air."

"This is the same air as in the dining room."

"No, this is less oppressive," she says bitterly.

"Lorelai, your father and I just want to understand." Emily's voice has softened so slightly that Lorelai doesn't trust the compassion she thinks she hears. "You don't spend time with his daughter. You tell me you don't think it will happen, and then you say everything is fine. What are we supposed to think?" She shakes her head in disapproval. "How could you let this happen? Or is it just that Luke is a complete imbecile? He never did seem like a terribly bright man."

More than the insults, it's the attack on Luke that forces her to give in, to open herself to even more scrutiny. She looks down at her foot slipping back and forth slowly on the floor and lets out a breath. "I gave him an ultimatum –asked him to elope - and he didn't take it."

"Whatever possessed you to do that?"

"It was getting to be too much. I couldn't do it anymore." It's taking all of her strength to relive the details without breaking down, to speak without her voice cracking.

"So that's it? You're not even going to try to work it out? I thought you loved this man, or was it just one of your silly infatuations, one of your trivial affairs?"

The anger that bubbles up then, at the very least, turns her grief into rage, which helps stem the tears. "How could you say that? You _know_ I love-"

"Of course you do, God knows why, so explain to me why you're not even interested in trying to reconcile.

Fueled by frustration, the words are out of her mouth before she can stop them. "I slept with Christopher, Mom. Okay, are you happy? Isn't that what you always wanted? To break us up?"

"I most certainly-" Emily pauses, her forehead wrinkled in thought. "So, are you with Christopher now?" Lorelai can't decide if she looks pleased or not.

"No," she says firmly, then drops her voice, "it was a mistake."

"Well, I've never heard that one before," Emily says, the words thick with sarcasm. "Do you two have an arrangement or something? If that's the way that you treat an engagement, perhaps Luke is better off. Honestly Lorelai, it's no wonder you haven't been able to make it work with anyone."

The words sap the rest of Lorelai's dignity and she bites out, "Okay, that's it. I'm done," before moving to get her coat.

"Lorelai, what are you doing?"

"Leaving," she says, pulling on her coat while walking toward the door.

"You can't leave."

"Watch me." Lorelai turns, her voice low and even when she speaks. "Why sneak out a window when I can just walk out the front door? Because I'll be damned if I'm going to stand here and listen to any more of your insinuations."

She makes it three blocks before the tears are flowing so fast she can't see, so she pulls over in the shadow of another monstrosity of a house. She's not sure what's worse – that her mother could say such things to her, or that she's letting herself believe them.

It frightens her when she realizes just how much she wants to prove her mother wrong. To tell her about spending time with Luke and April, tell her about the way he'd kissed her. Or to go to Luke and let him comfort her – to play off the attraction she knows is still there.

Because she's pretty confident that she can make him want her, at least for tonight. It's tomorrow she's worried about, the expression on his face when he realizes what he's done. And she can't take that look, can't bear another rejection, so she goes home and avoids the temptation.

It's a sign of strength, she thinks, that she is able to drive by the diner without even pausing.

_To be continued_


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **Now really, if I owned them, would they seriously be as screwed up as they are right now?

**Author's Note:** Many thanks to my lovely betas, **iheartbridges**, **Lula Bo**, **CineFille**, and to **juststandstill** for the legal advice. I only hope that my editing does justice to their wonderful feedback.

* * *

In the wake of the disastrous Friday Night Dinner and her fight with Emily, Lorelai had managed to summon her strength and had kept herself from making another horrendous mistake. But after she'd successfully driven by the diner without succumbing to the need for comfort, Luke had shown up at her house anyway, telling her he wanted her, that he wanted to try again.

And so they're something again - something cautious and tenuous. She wants to believe in it, but the thought of throwing her whole self into this relationship again is terrifying, the way she imagines skydiving would be if she'd ever had the desire to hurl herself out of an airplane. She's not sure how, having never done it, she can imagine with such clarity the fear of sitting in the doorway of the airplane looking down before an impending jump, without faith that the backup chute is fully functional, but that's what's keeping her from fully making the leap.

Since returning from Vermont, she's filled her evenings with movies and television, welcoming the brainlessness of the flashing images. It's not until Luke confirms that he still wants her that she lets herself pull out all of the romantic favorites she's been avoiding.

After a few nights, it becomes an obsession of sorts. She's not exactly sure what she's looking for, what she's hoping to find in the 'meant to bes' and 'true love forever' messages that she would typically mock, or if she's just in withdrawal after having deprived herself of them for so long.

Not even a week has passed when Luke unexpectedly shows up on her doorstep, after he and April have celebrated the positive results of the court-ordered DNA test. He's got a box of gifts from April tucked under his arm that he can't wait to show her. More than that, he needs her - her reassurance and her support. He needs her to tell him that he's doing the right things for his daughter, that it's not selfish to assert his parental rights.

She does exactly that, watching him with a lump in her throat as he shows her every one of April's gifts; as he visits again the childhood he'd missed being a part of. It's heartbreaking, really, that this pile of art projects similar to those of Rory's she has packed away in boxes is the sole connection he has to April growing up. When he questions the wisdom of the lawsuit, she can see the fear in his eyes about losing what he's just started to build, and she does her best to encourage him.

It's that same night that he stumbles upon her movie marathon and somehow becomes a part of it. He doesn't join her every night, but when he does it's comforting, even more so because he doesn't ask why; he seems content to just be there.

He suffers with little protest through a few Meg Ryan must-sees, as well as other favorites sprinkled among them, only seriously protesting when she pops in _Clueless_.

"Why are we watching a movie about fourteen year olds?" he asks after a few minutes, his voice slightly pained.

"She learns to drive in this one, so she's got to be at least fifteen or sixteen," Lorelai corrects.

"The question still stands."

"It's Jane Austen."

"_This_ is Jane Austen?" He gestures toward the television, his eyebrows raised in confusion. "The _Pride and Prejudice_ 'ladies-in-ball-gowns, men-on-horses' Jane Austen?"

She beams at him. "Ooh, I'm impressed you remembered. We haven't watched that in over a year."

"How could I forget?" he groans. "Six hours of British accents and you fawning over Colin Firth."

Lorelai laughs, but has to stop herself before she teases him about being jealous. That kind of flirtation feels a little too intimate for where they are now.

She's not exactly sure where that is, but they spend the next few weeks in a quiet, relaxed sort of limbo. She still meets up with April at the diner and even brings Rory along when she's in Stars Hollow. After Luke finishes building a wall to make a real room for April, she spends a Saturday helping them paint it, and is subjected to their plot to convince her to join them on their Labor Day trip to Luke's cabin.

The new whatever-it-is in their relationship has made her much less hesitant about the time she spends with Luke's daughter, especially once Luke starts to truly open up about the custody process and his own fears about suing Anna.

What's odd, though, is that even though she's spending more time with April, and with Luke and April together, in ways that are feeling really comfortable and progressing toward…something, it's the time that she and Luke spend alone that makes it feel like they're even now at a standstill.

She's got a sense that they're both waiting for something, for some signal that it's okay to move forward, but in the meantime, though they are often together and there's a sense of renewed commitment to their relationship, they're not actually dating. They're not sleeping together. Hell, he hasn't even kissed her since that day in his apartment when they'd argued about April. And she thinks all of that should bother her, or worry her. But really, it's the lack of it that reassures her. The fact that she's not jumping into anything while the fear is still so present. The fact that he seems willing to wait.

And so they go on: being together, but not quite; being friends, but a little more. And it's good, she thinks.

* * *

She hears her mother's voice coming through the door of her office before she sees her, "Lorelai, you really should train your front desk workers to be more helpful. Honestly, that girl really expects me to go poking around back here until I find your office?" Lorelai looks up in amazement to find Emily, complete with her perfect hair, stylish purse, and expensive raincoat over her arm, and a haughty set in her expression. "She didn't even offer to take my coat." She's holding it out and Lorelai is taking it before she can even fully process her mother's presence in her office. "Do you actually train your-"

"Mom," she finally gets out, a touch more sharply than she intends. "What are you doing here?"

"You're not coming to dinners anymore." Emily's tone is so nondescript that Lorelai can't be sure if she's offering an explanation or asking a question.

"I don't know why not, since the last one was such a hoot," Lorelai responds bitterly, as she turns to hang up her mother's coat.

"So what? A few questions about your life and now we're not allowed to see you anymore?"

She rounds on her mother. "Questions, Mom? That's what those were, questions? Those sounded more like reasons I'm an undeserving strumpet." The sarcastic words cover the resentment, the hurt that she's hiding.

"You do always blow everything out of proportion," Emily says, her tone patronizing.

"Mom, why are you here? Because I'm not in the mood for one of your 'Lorelai is so troublesome' lectures. I know when I've screwed up without you have to point it out to me." Lorelai can hear the brittleness in her own voice, can feel the tremor in her words. She's lived with her mother long enough not to expect her mother to understand how deeply her words cut and how permanently they scar her.

"But it sounds like things are working out for you in spite of everything."

"What?"

"You're back together with Luke." Emily says it so matter-of-factly, without any doubt in her voice, that Lorelai wonders briefly if she's spoken to him.

"What? How did you…?" she stammers. "We're not-" She cuts herself off when she looks up to see knowing amusement in the curve of her mother's smile, and then lets out a long breath, admitting softly, "We're still working it out."

"You're going away with him," Emily points out, and Lorelai wonders for a brief moment if her mother has actually become clairvoyant. She can't think of any other explanation for the surreal quality of this conversation.

"How did you…?"

"We invited Rory to join us on Martha's Vineyard for Labor Day weekend and she said that the two of you already had plans to go to Luke's cabin," she fixes Lorelai with a challenging stare, "with Luke and his daughter."

Lorelai sighs, and after a long moment gives a small nod.

"But you're not back together?"

"Well we're…" Lorelai hesitates, then shakes her head. "It's complicated."

"Really Lorelai, if I had a penny for every time I've heard that one. I'm a bright woman. Just how complicated can it be?"

Lorelai looks down at the papers she's forgotten she's holding. She's gripping them so tightly they're beginning to crease. In an attempt to calm herself, she sucks in a few deep breaths as she places the forms in a pile on her desk, before turning to face her mother again. "What makes you think I want to talk about this with you? You've made yourself crystal freaking clear on the subject."

"And which subject would that be, exactly?"

Lorelai gives a huff of frustration. "My life, or more to the point, your disapproval of it. Now, I know that you don't actually care if I'm happy-"

"Why on earth would you say that?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe it's that overwhelming sense of support I get every time I'm in your motherly presence. You're always criticizing, always butting in."

"That's ridiculous. If I've ever intervened, it's only been for your own good."

"My own good?" Lorelai hisses. "Are you serious?" Her nails bite into her palms as she holds her arms tightly to her side, trying to rein in all of her pent-up aggravation.

"I've always wanted what's best for you," Emily says quietly. The note of sincerity in her voice makes Lorelai glance up briefly to see her mother looking at her thoughtfully, without a trace of condescension.

She has to turn away for a moment to make sense of the words, because she can hear that her mother really believes what she's saying. It makes Lorelai wonder briefly whether it's worse to think that your mother wants to impose her will regardless the cost, or to recognize that your mother has never truly understood what's important to you at all. She shakes her head slowly, her voice uneven when she finally speaks. "You have a funny way of showing it."

She can hear Emily sigh behind her, and Lorelai thinks she can detect a note of sympathy woven in with the irritation. "Does Luke make you happy?"

"Yes," she says softly, still turned away, watching her anxiety play itself out in the twisting motions of her fingers. She hadn't hesitated before responding, and the part of her that's been holding back from Luke notices the irony of that. And somehow, she's not surprised that her mother picks up on that as well.

"Then what are you waiting for?" Emily asks calmly. "Is it simply impossible for you to see what's right in front of you?"

"Mom." Her tone is sharp, a warning. "I don't want-"

Emily cuts her off, but the words are gentle. "What are you waiting for?"

For the briefest of moments, Lorelai can almost imagine telling her – all of the fears, all of the hopes – everything that runs through her mind when she looks into the future. For a fleeting moment, it actually sounds like her mother might give a flying flip about her life, and she realizes that there's a timid little girl inside her that desperately wants that to be true.

But the older sister of that little girl, the one who's grown jaded and cynical, silences the hopeful one and says simply, "We're just trying to work out everything. To make it right."

Her mother is quiet so long that Lorelai almost turns to make sure she's still there, but she finally hears, in a tone that sounds not at all judgmental, "That sounds…sensible." There's a pause, then Emily adds, "I want you to figure out what will really make you happy."

It's her mother's voice, and she can still smell the distinct tang of her mother's perfume, but the words are so foreign, she really does need to spin and confirm that she hasn't been replaced by someone else's mother in the last thirty seconds.

"You want…_what?_ How can you…?"

"Weren't you just telling me that you didn't think I cared about your happiness?"

"If you really did you would have let me be happy with Luke."

"Your father and I were going to buy the two of you a _house_," Emily points out primly.

Lorelai shakes her head slowly. "I know. I still haven't been able to figure that one out."

"You were getting married. It's what you do."

"Well sure, in Emily World," Lorelai says with a sardonic smile, which fades as she lets out a huff of frustration. "I just…I don't get it, Mom. Ever since you met Luke, you've let me know without a doubt how you felt about him."

Emily sighs. "Well, he wouldn't have been our first choice for you, but you were engaged. You were going to marry him."

Lorelai shakes her head furiously. "You really can't see the irony here? It wasn't that long ago you intentionally sent Christopher on a little errand to break up us up. Excuse me for being skeptical of your motives." She flails her arms in aggravation. "I mean, I just don't understand how you can justify that if you really want me to think that you had my best interests at heart. You've been talking up Christopher for years." She lets out an angry huff and adds cynically, "I figured you'd be thrilled at the recent developments. He's always been your golden boy."

"What are you talking about?" Emily gives a disdainful sniff. "That boy has always been weak and immature."

Lorelai sputters in confusion. "How can you – what are you? Oh my god, Mom, you _pushed_ him on me."

Emily's eyes are hard. "I had Rory to consider."

Lorelai stares back at her mother in bewilderment. "What do you mean?"

"A child needs a-"

"A mother and a father." Lorelai interrupts. "I know, Mom. You've always made that message clear." She thinks she shouldn't be surprised that they're back to this argument that they've seen so many times before. She'd thought that maybe her mother had started to understand, at least in part, what Lorelai wants out of life, but even now they've found their way back, yet again, to Lorelai's fundamental disappointment – her failure to marry Christopher and give Rory a family.

"Not that you ever paid any attention to what I've said."

She wonders how it's possible that even though she's pushing forty her mother can still make her feel like a scolded child. "God, Mom, does it matter _at all_ what I want? Why would you want me to be with Christopher if I wanted to be with Luke? Why would you do that?"

"I didn't know how strongly you felt about-" Lorelai glares at her mother, and Emily pauses before saying, "about Luke."

Lorelai responds, her voice low and even. "Would it have changed anything if you did?"

"I always thought…" Emily pauses, her expression uncertain. "I really thought you could be happy with Christopher. That if it weren't for that other woman getting pregnant, you'd be with him now."

Lorelai has to stifle a laugh at the suggestion, because even though she'd thought it possible at the time, she can no longer conjure an image of Christopher and her living out a 'happily-ever-after' scenario. Looking back at her growing pile of missed opportunities, her brief chance at something real with Rory's father doesn't even rate.

She's not sure how to express this to her mother, so she just says quietly, "We wouldn't have worked. I wouldn't have been happy with him."

"You never really gave him a chance," Emily points out, but then adds reluctantly, "but maybe you're right."

They're going around in circles and Lorelai can no longer make sense of where they are in the argument. "I just don't understand why it mattered so much. He doesn't have to be with me to be Rory's dad."

Her mother stops and gives her a long, serious look. "You really think that, don't you?"

Lorelai's brow tightens in confusion. "Of course I do. What are you…?"

"It's always been you he loves. You're the one who's more important to him. Have you really not seen that, Lorelai?"

Lorelai stills and goes cold so suddenly that she's reminded of her high school chemistry teacher's demonstrations with liquid nitrogen. She also remembers that things frozen with liquid nitrogen shatter into hundreds of pieces the moment they hit the floor, and that thought keeps her momentarily petrified with fear. Finally her lungs gasp in air greedily and she finds herself just a little surprised that her body is still intact after those several ragged breaths.

She doesn't want to believe what her mother is saying about Christopher's feelings for her, and for his daughter. The implication is too big, too wrong. She's always known Christopher cared for her and she's let herself get sucked into that more times that she'd like to admit. But her mother is saying something else entirely – that it's bigger than what he feels for Rory, possibly that she's let it be bigger than his love for Rory. "No, no, no," she says desperately. "You can't blame me for this."

"I'm not blaming you. It's just the way it is." Her mother goes on, a touch of regret in her words. "He's never wanted a family as much as he's wanted you, but I always thought that if you cared about him that you could all be happy."

Somewhere in her consciousness, Lorelai is aware that her mother has just made an important admission, but she's unable to get past the underlying revelation. "No, no," she whispers, more to herself than to her mother, wanting desperately not to believe that of Rory's father, having a hard time imagining it, but at the same time, remembering moments, feelings that leave her with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She tries to put words together to protest, to convince herself even, but she can't force them past the paralysis in her throat.

They stand there for several long moments, Lorelai staring at her toes, mentally cataloguing her history with Christopher, and his history with his daughter. When Emily finally breaks the silence, her voice is uncharacteristically understanding. "It's not your responsibility, Lorelai." She looks up to find her mother looking at her warmly, and it occurs to her that they're having one of those rare mother-daughter moments that she and Emily have once every forever and she thinks for a moment that she should savor it.

It's a moment in which any other mother would hug her daughter, but they're not really that kind of mother and daughter, so Emily rests her hand on Lorelai's arm, saying softly, "The house hasn't sold yet. We can reinstate our offer, if you'd like." It sounds incongruous and out of the blue, considering what they'd just been talking about, but in a strange way, Lorelai thinks it just might be her mother's way of giving tacit approval to the path Lorelai has chosen. And it warms her more than she'd like to admit.

She looks up and gives Emily a sad smile. "That's…that's really beyond…well, really it was beyond the call of duty, whatever, in the first place, but you don't have to…"

"It wasn't because we had to," Emily corrects, just sharply enough to keep the moment from getting too emotional. "It was, it is, a gift."

"Okay, well…" Lorelai says helplessly, unable to remember a time she'd felt quite this exposed to her mother. "I still don't think I, we, can accept it. I don't even know…"

A fleeting look of concern crosses Emily's face, though her tone is businesslike. "Well, we can certainly keep them tangled up in negotiations for quite some time. They were being completely unreasonable about a few things. That should give you time to finally get your love life straightened out," she adds pointedly.

The flash of irritation at her mother's bluntness is almost welcome, considering how quickly emotion had flooded the room, crowding out everything else. She gives her mother a rueful glance, which Emily seems to silently acknowledge before saying, "Well, I've got a luncheon back in Hartford." Lorelai takes the cue and hands Emily her raincoat, as her mother adds casually, "So, will you be joining us for dinner on Friday?"

There's just enough hopefulness in Emily's expression that Lorelai feels the tables turned for a moment, as if her mother is just asking for this one little thing in return for understanding, and it makes her want to grant it.

Honestly, even if she wanted to decline, she's too drained to come up with an adequate reason, so she just nods and says softly, "I'll be there."

There's a hint of a smile in the corners of Emily's mouth but her response is officious. "Very well then. You know, you can bring Luke and that daughter of his if you like."

Lorelai gives a halfhearted sigh. "April, Mom. Her name is April. And no thank you. I don't think we're quite ready for that yet."

Emily shrugs. "Well, we'll seen you Friday then." She glances out the door, then back at Lorelai. "I'll see myself out. I'm sure I won't have any help from your staff."

Once her mother leaves, whatever shred of dignity that had remained flees and she shuts the door before collapsing at her desk under the weight of more than twenty years of history. She's too stunned to work, to function. Even when she's able to sit up and locate the folders she'd been working on when her mother arrived, her brain feels sluggish and her movements stiff. After spending almost an hour staring at the same set of requisitions, she finally gives in and goes home.

The first thing she does when she gets home is pull out her photo albums looking for evidence with which to prove her mother wrong. Searching for Christopher's adoring gaze trained on his daughter. But her photo albums are sadly bare with respect to Rory's father and she can neither prove nor disprove her mother's assertion.

Memories haunt her: his repeated suggestions that they leave baby Rory with the nanny so that they could go out, the rare visits that were as much about flirting with Lorelai as about bonding with Rory, proposals to be her husband without any idea how to be a father, and the fact that when he came into money it was Lorelai he came to with offers of castles and cars, in spite of her being with someone else, in spite of Rory being a grown woman with her own place.

The memories, though, she can hold inside, and while deep down she knows her mother is right, she lets herself try to deny it a little longer, until the anger makes it impossible to ignore it any longer. Anger at Christopher for not making his own daughter a higher priority and anger at herself for allowing it.

* * *

Over the next few days, she and Luke continue the movie marathon. If she's quieter than usual, he doesn't say anything, but a few days later, when he reaches his arm around her shoulder and tugs her close, she doesn't resist and instead lets her head drop to his shoulder. They're back to Meg Ryan again, much to Luke's chagrin, and they're watching _You've Got Mail, _which luckily is formulaic enough to require almost none of her attention. Even though it's been a few days, she keeps running her mother's words over in her head, and the guilt nags at her.

Later, as the credits scroll by, Luke runs his hand up and down her arm, and even though she's got so many questions in her head – about her life and about her relationship with Luke - that she can't make sense of any of them, the motion comforts her. He gives one last little squeeze and then whispers, "I should get going."

She just nods and stands slowly, watching him lean forward, pushing off his knees as he comes to his feet. He helps her carry their beer bottles and pie plates to the kitchen and then she follows him to the door. They've made a habit of these awkward good nights. Awkward because it feels like he should kiss her good night, but they're not doing that yet. These few minutes at the end of the night are really the only moments that make her wonder what they're doing, make her wonder if her mother is right and they should just get on with it already.

These are the thoughts in her head as they run through their hesitant routine, so it catches her by surprise when Luke stops halfway out the door and turns to look at her. "You know I love you, right?"

He says the words confidently, but once they're out he goes on, his voice tentative, as if he needs to explain, "I think words are, well, just words, and that it's more important what we do." He takes a breath and then goes on, a little hurriedly, "But I've been wrong about a lot of other stuff and I just want to make sure there's no question."

The nerve signals from her brain get lost somewhere between the urge to speak and the putting together of words, so she just stands there with her mouth half-open. His expression is warm and sincere, but as the moment lengthens, she sees a quirk of amusement in his smile.

He reaches out to take her hand and then presses his lips to her forehead briefly before stepping back. She's got that sitting-at-the-door-of-the-airplane feeling and it's possible he sees that in her eyes, because he tightens his fingers around hers briefly before releasing her hand and saying, "See you tomorrow," his words and gestures removing any expectation of a response. He turns to go, and she's both relieved and annoyed that he's down the steps before she can find her words. Impatience wins out over relief as she pads across the porch and calls his name. Stopping in the middle of the lawn, he turns back toward her. "Yeah?"

She leans forward, balancing her weight on the porch rail and says, softly but clearly, "I love you, too."

The shy nod and smile he gives her in return makes her think that finally they might both be in the same place at the same time.

That's the thought that carries her through the next several days, that keeps her from spending too much time inside her head, reliving the past. The past is not a comfort right now. The more time she spends remembering, the more she thinks that her mother was right, and as she looks back, through this new lens of understanding, the more she sees moments – of hope, of unfulfilled promises, of absence – and wonders if she'd had the power to affect those moments. When she remembers the scenes of her daughter's disappointment, repeated over and over throughout Rory's childhood, she can't help but think that if Christopher didn't put his daughter first, it was because she let him.

This revelation sticks with her, drags her down like one of those backpacks she and Rory lugged around Europe, but she can't seem to let go of it. Can't stop thinking 'what if?'

Throughout it all, Luke is a constant, trying in his silent, patient way to lighten her load. In return, when the pressures of the custody suit starts to wear him down, she tries to lighten his.

In spite of his misgivings about lawyers and custody battles, after the DNA test results, Luke had met with Harry and drawn up what seemed like a fair proposal: April would be with him two afternoons a week and every other weekend. Given that she's already spending three or four days a week at the diner, along with occasional outings with Luke, it's not a great deal more time. The overnight stays would be a significant change, but April's room in Luke's apartment is ready, waiting for her to stay in it.

Lorelai watches him go off to the first mediation meeting full of hope, only to return frustrated when Anna balks at the overnight stays and the sharing of holidays. After a couple of weeks of meetings, they're still at an impasse and when another week ends without any progress, Lorelai knows that Luke is starting to get discouraged. He hasn't said anything out loud, but she suspects that he'd hoped this weekend might be the first time April would stay with him and when it doesn't happen, he starts to worry that the trip to the cabin might be in jeopardy, even though Anna had previously given permission for it.

In addition, April is busy most of the weekend with a friend's birthday festivities, so she doesn't visit. On Saturday night, when Lorelai stops by the diner for a late dinner, Luke is downright grumpy. By the time he closes the diner, though, Lorelai has managed to wear him down with a combination of distraction and understanding, and after he locks the door and refills her coffee he says with a discouraged sigh, "I just keep wondering if I'm doing the right thing, fighting with Anna like this."

"She's the one fighting, Luke. You're being completely reasonable."

He gives a half-hearted shrug. "But it's not good for April, to see that. I don't even…" Reaching with both hands to adjust his cap, he leans back against the counter and continues, "I'm not even sure she really wants this."

"That's ridiculous," Lorelai protests automatically, feeling red, hot anger toward Anna for making Luke question his own fatherhood.

"Is it?"

"Of course it is," she insists. "You're talking like all of a sudden you don't want this. What's going on?"

"It's just that she and her mom have had this special thing for so long, and I'm trying to take some of that away."

"Luke," Lorelai says, leaning forward on the counter as she holds his gaze and says seriously, "she's your daughter. I don't understand what you're trying to say."

"I don't know exactly. It's not like I'm not pissed as hell that Anna didn't tell me about April, but she keeps talking about how adolescence is such a fragile time and I don't want to make things harder for April." Lorelai gives him a skeptical look and he responds by pointing at her. "I thought you'd get it. I mean with Rory and all. You had that whole 'special bond' thing and you're, you know," he gestures at her, "a woman and all, so you get all that teenage girl stuff. It's just," he shrugs sadly, "I'm not sure that April really needs me."

"Luke…" It makes her physically ache to hear him saying this, after seeing how hard he's worked to build a relationship with his daughter, after seeing how much April obviously cares for him. She can't imagine the thought process that would lead him to that conclusion, that would have him trying to talk himself out of this fight.

But the thing is, he thinks that she should understand, because of Rory. Because she's a single mother whose child has an absent father. And she wants to tell him it's different, that Luke didn't have an opportunity to be a father because April's mother didn't let him, but then she has to ask herself if Christopher ever asked himself those questions. If he really knew how much his daughter wanted him in her life

It's that thought that stops her, makes her wonder if she's done things, said things, over the years that made Christopher think that he shouldn't intrude, or that he wasn't welcome. If that's why he chose not to be present.

And then there's the part of her that thinks that maybe she wouldn't have to be wondering about any of this if only she'd spent less time wondering what he was to her, and more time thinking about what he was to his kid.

The sudden rush of guilt makes her respond sharply, "No. No," she repeats, shaking her head, seeing his eyes widen in confusion at her obvious agitation. "You can't let her do that to you. You can't let her make it all about her. You can't let her keep your kid from you." He's giving her too much credit, she thinks. Anna doesn't deserve such understanding, doesn't deserve to be let off the hook, and neither does she.

In the end, Anna eventually agrees, consenting to the overnight visits provided she gets her choice of holidays. It sounds like a compromise for the sake of winning an argument more than anything else. Luke wonders aloud what made Anna change her mind, but Lorelai thinks that it might have something to do with the determined look she's seen in April's eyes during the last few days. She has no idea if Luke has seen the same thing, but he seems relieved about Anna's change of heart, as if it renews his faith in her willingness to be reasonable, and though Lorelai's not as convinced about Anna's goodwill, she lets him go on thinking whatever he needs to make the situation work for him.

* * *

During the next couple of weeks, April's excitement about the trip to the cabin grows and Lorelai can't help but feel her own enthusiasm build, in spite of the nervousness she feels.

It's not just for April's benefit that Lorelai makes a big deal about sharing a room with April and Rory while they're at the cabin. It's also to answer the unasked question in Rory's eyes. And mostly, it's because this is an awkward position to be in: going on an overnight trip with your ex-fiance - who you're almost but not quite dating – and his teenage daughter.

Because of that, Lorelai is prepared for a bit of awkwardness, for she and Luke to not quite know how to be with one another. But when she wakes on Saturday morning to the smell of coffee and bacon, she's not prepared for how familiar it feels to have Luke there in the morning cooking her breakfast. When she pads into the kitchen in her pajamas and slippers, she finds both chocolate chip and blueberry pancakes on the table and Luke doling out sausage links and bacon strips to each of the plates. He's humming something tuneless to himself as he works, an easy smile on his face. His focus is such that he doesn't notice her right away; when he does the humming stops and he ducks his head shyly. Lorelai can't help but chuckle at the image, and Luke reaches to fill a mug with coffee, very likely to distract her from commenting. When he turns to hand her the coffee, he wraps his other hand briefly around her elbow and there's a moment she thinks he's going to give her a 'good morning' kiss, but it passes and she thinks maybe she's disappointed about that.

She doesn't have a chance to think through the implications of that, because April and Rory have descended upon the table and soon they're all devouring the pancakes he's placed in front of them and resisting his efforts to serve them the fruit he's cut up. Between the relief of the custody settlement and the opportunity to share this place with those important to him, Luke's apparently hopeless to refuse them anything. Though all three of them tease him mercilessly about the various ways they'll torture him this weekend, he seems perfectly content, at least for the moment, to let them.

As Lorelai looks at them assembled around the table, she thinks that she hasn't felt such a strong sense of family in years. Luke catches her eye and winks at her and before she knows what she's doing, she's planning in her head to make this trip a yearly tradition and she realizes that, for the first time in a long time, she can actually imagine a future.

Later, they all stand on the dock as Luke and April prepare to test her theories about the best location on the lake to fish.

"You're sure you don't want to come with us?" Luke asks, gesturing toward the rowboat that's bobbing up and down in the water next to the dock.

"In that thing?" she asks, her tone incredulous but teasing. "Out there? That thing barely looks like it will hold the two of you. I don't want to strain its meager seams."

He shrugs. "Suit yourself," he pauses, fixing her with a determined smile, "but there will be a time that I'll get you out fishing."

Lorelai hears Rory chuckle behind her. "Good luck with that," she says before turning to April and asking, "So, what's the appropriate thing to say as you head out? Happy Fishing?"

"That'll work," April says with a grin. She glances quickly at her watch, then looks up at Luke. "Oh, we should get going. We need to be in the northwest corner of the lake by two o'clock. That's when the dissolved oxygen and temperature should be at the most optimal conditions for fishing."

Luke nods at his daughter so seriously that Lorelai almost laughs out loud at the thought that this man who's always said he's no good with kids can hold a straight face while this miniature science geek is listing the reasons they need to be at a particular spot on the lake at a specific time. It's so incongruous and yet it's not, because she's been watching him with April for weeks now and it makes sense in a way she always knew deep down that it would if Luke ever decided to have a kid. She's still thinking this as April turns to climb into the boat and Luke winks at herover his daughter's shoulder, and she thinks that maybe he sees it too, that it's odd and natural all at once.

"We'll see you in a few hours," he says, balancing his weight expertly as he steps into the teetering boat, and adds playfully. "Rory, don't let your mom try to cook anything while we're gone."

"Hey!" Lorelai protests.

"Just don't want you to burn down the cabin."

Lorelai sticks out her tongue. "You better sit down and take off before I come over there and push you into the water."

He laughs, but then does just that, lifting his eyebrow in amusement as he positions his hands on the oars and starts rowing.

Lorelai walks back to where they've left their blankets on the shore, and plops herself down, sitting with her knees up and arms folded across them. Watching quietly, she follows the motion of the oars as they push through the water and then circle back through the air, raining water drops in their wake. She's just getting used to the still silence, when Rory points out, chuckling, "I can't believe he's still wearing his flannel."

She laughs lightly, smiling over at her daughter briefly before resting her chin on her arms. "Yeah, I know. Some things never change." It's not supposed to come out with a melancholy edge and she tries to cover, "Though I never thought I'd see this." She takes in a few deep breaths. "It's nice, isn't it?"

Rory nods, "It is. It's so quiet and pretty."

"Yeah. I'm really glad we let them drag us up here," Lorelai says, looking back out to where the boat is getting smaller and smaller as Luke rows it further across the lake.

"You seem…" she hears Rory say, and she turns her head sideways to watch her daughter's face wrinkle into a thoughtful frown, "content."

It's the perfect word for what she feels right now, like things are falling into place, like she's on a wacky road trip to some fabulous locale, the journey as pleasant as the destination is desirable.

"So everything's going well," Rory prods gently, "with you and Luke?"

"We're," she pauses, smiling, "we're figuring it out."

"You know, the two of you keep saying that. What exactly does that mean?"

Lorelai lifts one shoulder in a slow shrug. "I don't know. We're working it out. We're spending time together. We're fixing what was broken."

"Have you talked about the future…I don't know, a wedding?" Rory asks hopefully.

She gives her daughter a quick glance, "Let's not rush anything."

"Well, do you think you will?"

"I don't know. Maybe. We're just not there yet." She doesn't say so to Rory, doesn't make the words real just yet, though she's starting to think that they will, eventually. But right now she's happy just to live in the moment, without spending too much time pondering the hows and whens and wheres. In an effort at distraction, she asks, "Hey, how are things with your dad?

Rory sounds almost surprised when she answers. "Good, actually. We've been having dinner once a week. Dad found this sushi place he likes near Yale."

"Sushi?"

"Yeah."

"Seriously? Cut up bits of uncooked fish wrapped in rice and seaweed?"

"How do you do that?"

"What?"

"Take a perfectly good food and make it sound disgusting."

"'Cause it's seaweed."

Rory just laughs, shaking her head as she stretches out on the blanket. After a little more probing, she talks about the trip to the Children's Museum with Christopher and Gigi, sharing the kind of anecdotes you only get when there's a three-and-a-half-year-old involved.

As Lorelai listens, prompting with questions, but otherwise saying very little, she hears what sounds like Rory's genuine enjoyment not only in the outings, but also in the memory of them. She can feel some of the tension, and the guilt, start to melt, and it makes her think that maybe it's not too late for some of the damage to be repaired, to give back some of what Rory's missed out on by not having her father thoroughly present in her life. That maybe she can find some peace about her role in that absence.

_To be continued_


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** If they were mine, they'd be back together by now.

**Author's Note:** First of all, thank you so much for the wonderful feedback and reviews on this series. The encouragement really helps when I run into writer's block. Secondly, though I'm trying to keep the stories in this series as independent as possible, it will help if you have read chapter nine of Broken before reading this chapter. Lastly, my betas are awesome. **CineFille** always keeps me (and Lorelai!) honest and **Lula Bo** makes sure that the character's conversations get to the heart of the matter.

* * *

As they round the corner from summer into fall, with the nights edging towards cool and the days not so sticky and humid, Lorelai can't help but think that she and Luke are headed into a new season as well. She wonders sometimes if she should be worried about how well everything is going, as if it's too good to be true. If she should pinch herself when she wakes up curled against him. But ever since they've returned from the cabin, they've felt so _together_ that she's just been trying to enjoy it, to simply live the moments as they come.

It's like what Rory had said about being content. It's a perfect description, and even more true now than while they were away. She sees Luke two or three times a day and he stays with her more nights than not, fitting back into her home and her life more seamlessly than she could have hoped.

They're also settling smoothly into Luke's new visitation routine with April. She's with him after school two days a week and the two of them have been making plans for their first weekend together since the Labor Day trip.

In spite of all that, she's still thrown when, little more than a week after they return from the cabin, she's getting a load of laundry ready and she finds her engagement ring in Luke's pocket. She's surprised because they haven't talked marriage. They haven't gone there yet. They've been focusing on making it work in the present, on being together and happy, so plans for the future seem almost unnecessary just now. But it's here in his pocket and it means he's either started thinking about a wedding again, or that he never stopped thinking, and suddenly either option is overwhelming.

She'd been half-convinced she'd never see the ring again and when he confirms that he'd thought about throwing it in the river in Vermont, but hadn't, it hits her all over again how close they'd come to losing it all. But instead, he'd held onto it, carried it with him and now he's given it to her to hold onto. It's really too much to process, to take in, so in the end all she can do is bury her face in his chest and squeeze her hand around the crumpled white envelope that holds their future inside.

* * *

It's not until the next morning, after Luke has left for the diner, that she can unfold the envelope and take the ring out, that she can hold it between her thumb and forefinger, turning it slowly and watching the reflected light play across the walls. 

She gets an endless sort of stomach-sinking feeling when she thinks about him having it this whole time, knowing that he never gave up on them, not really. And she wants to acknowledge that somehow.

But she can't put it back on her finger. Not yet. He'd said she could wear it…if she wanted. It wasn't quite a proposal, and putting it on wouldn't quite be an answer. When they do choose to take that next step she doesn't want it to be some kind of default solution about where to put the ring for safekeeping. She wants it to be a mutual decision to spend the rest of their lives together.

She can't just wrap it back up and hide it in her underwear drawer either. The topic's been broached and though they haven't been consciously avoiding it, now that it's appeared on the horizon it can't be hidden away.

It's out there now. An idea, a possibility, an unspoken promise.

And it's then that she figures out what she needs and digs through her jewelry box for an appropriate choice. She finally finds the chain she's looking for and takes the delicate pendant off, threading the ring on in its place, then looping the chain around her neck and fastening it. Looking in the mirror, she fingers the ring gently, thinking that maybe, finally, they're going to get it right.

He doesn't see it right away. As much as she loves having this bit of their future hanging around her neck, she's not eager to broadcast anything, so she chooses her outfit carefully, not hiding it exactly, just making sure it's not obvious. And it ensures that when he does see it they're alone. He doesn't say anything, just smiles as he lifts it and twirls it between his fingers. Then he kisses her, soft and sure and full of promise.

* * *

The next day Lorelai stops by the diner before heading out to Friday Night Dinner and Luke fills her in on his plans with April. The two of them have made plans to see a movie after Anna drops off April and he mentions something about going to a museum on Saturday. It's a new routine for all of them and as Lorelai heads into Hartford, even though Luke has welcomed her into April's life, and even though she'd expected that he'd spend most of his free time with April this weekend, she knows she'll miss being able to stop by the diner to vent after having dinner with her parents. 

In one of those moments during cocktails when Emily is off fetching something and Richard is mixing drinks, Rory asks Lorelai what kinds of plans she and Luke have for the weekend. When she explains that it's his weekend with April, Rory gives her a worried glance, saying cautiously, "Mom? Is he still keeping you away…?"

"No, we're good, really," she insists.

Rory eyes her skeptically. "Are you sure?"

When Lorelai answers, she's able to say confidently, "Really kid. Luke and I are solid."

"Okay," Rory says slowly, then tilts her head and gives Lorelai a knowing grin. "Does your newfound confidence have anything to do with that ring you're wearing around your neck?"

"What? How did you…?"

Rory smirks. "Oh, don't worry, it's well hidden, but you were fiddling with it before we rang the doorbell. So, I guess things _are_ going well then?"

"They are, kid. They really are."

It's refreshing to know this with certainty. To know that she's welcome at the diner any time. To see Luke's eyes light up when she's around in a way that she hasn't seen for a long time. To know that April will be as pleased to see her as she will be to see April.

And yet it's still reassuring when he calls her late Friday night to ask how dinner was, telling her that it's not really a Friday unless he's heard her complain about her parents at least once. And after she's done the requisite whining, it feels right to say good night while snuggled warmly into bed and to hear him end the conversation by saying, "I'll see you tomorrow."

When she stops by for breakfast Saturday morning, she doesn't have to wonder if it's okay for her to be there because both Luke and April welcome her with bright smiles and Luke leans across the counter for a good morning kiss. While they eat April regales her with anecdotes from the movie and the things she's most looking forward to on their afternoon outing. Then she tells her that Lorelai needs to come to dinner at the apartment, that they are going to make it a Saturday 'thing,' at least for the Saturdays that April is in Stars Hollow. Lorelai has to laugh at the way that April informs her of this, without asking if she's available.

It's what the whole weekend is like, both April and Luke making her feel, in small and large ways, as though she is a part of their lives. Because of that, she's not surprised to see Luke on Sunday night after dropping off April, standing on her front porch holding a take-out bag. And she's not surprised when he wraps her in his embrace and whispers, "Missed you."

* * *

Of course, once everything is going so well it means that it's time for something to go terribly wrong. She should have known, she thinks, that it had been too easy cutting things off with Christopher, that it was too much to expect him to just be out of her life forever. But when he calls on the pretense of planning a party for Rory's birthday it's not just about him snaking his way back into her life. It's also a confirmation of everything Emily had said about him. That for Christopher, it's always been more about Lorelai than about his own daughter.

And so she finds herself standing perfectly still as Luke's steps recede behind her. When she hears the front door open, and then after a pause, snap shut, her legs give out under her and she collapses into a heap on the floor. All she can hear are the words that have been repeating over and over in her mind since she hung up the phone: "She was right." Her mother was right about Christopher. About Christopher and Rory. And it makes her ill to think that she hasn't seen it.

For a time all she can do is sit there, eventually moving to lean against the end of the couch, her knees pulled up under her chin.

She's angry. Angry at Christopher for confirming what she'd tried to deny, for making his daughter a pawn in whatever game he was trying to play with Lorelai. For not being a dad.

She's even more angry at herself for letting him breeze in and out of their lives, for those times that she'd wanted him for herself, and those times that she was relieved he wasn't around because he'd hurt or disappointed her. For all the times that she'd let him be a boyfriend and not a dad.

Because now that he's trying to make plans for a birthday bash for his almost twenty two year-old daughter, she's remembering all the other birthdays he's missed – the early ones when Rory hoped desperately for a card or a call and the more recent ones in which they didn't even bother to expect any recognition. She remembers creating excuses and distractions to try to erase the disappointment from Rory's face.

And then it's not just birthdays she remembering, but school plays, graduations, dance recitals, town pageants and that's when the tears begin to flow, when she buries her face in her crossed arms and sobs for her daughter and all of the non-existent memories. She cries until her sleeves are long past wet with tears and she's given up sniffling back her runny nose. She can feel the puffiness around her eyes and the ache in her backside. When Paul Anka ambles down the stairs to give her a baleful, worried look her muscles creak when she shifts to pull him into her lap.

She holds him to her, anchoring herself to his warmth, nuzzling her nose into his fur and finally, when he begins to fidget, she lets him lead her upstairs and then falls onto her bed in exhaustion. And though the anger and guilt make her mind restless, eventually it can no longer fight against the fatigue and she falls off to sleep.

It's only when she wakes that she can even begin to process her conversation with Luke, as though her mind simply didn't have space for all of the conflicting emotions at one time. She'd just known that there was still too much sadness and hurt about Christopher to allow herself to feel everything she needed to feel while Luke was there. She needed to be angry at Christopher without adding Luke's indignation to the mix, and she needed to be angry with herself without him trying to console her.

So before she'd fallen apart from the sheer strain of holding together all of her thoughts she'd sent Luke away. In the warm, bright light of morning, she's rational enough to know that there will be consequences for not letting him into this. To know that he trusted her enough to leave and she didn't trust him enough to let him stay.

And when she goes downstairs to find a cup of coffee, a bag with a Danish sitting on the coffee table and a note reading '_Come by for a refill when you can_,' it makes it worse to know that rather than anger, he's feeling hurt, disappointed, and worried.

So, she goes to the diner and watches him cover up his injured feelings with concern. She lets him pour her coffee without a lecture, bears his careful scrutiny, and responds to his not-quite-full smiles. She watches him bite back questions and lets him because even now, she's not sure she could explain to him what was running through her mind during that phone call and what it had confirmed for her. And throughout it all, she tries to remember a time when she hadn't ended up letting him down.

* * *

Over the next few days they start to find their rhythm again, and though they're both a bit subdued, it gradually feels more comfortable. Lorelai's tells herself that maybe it's possible to move past Christopher's latest invasion into their life without a big fuss being made about it. 

But one night when they're getting ready for bed she comes back from the bathroom to find Luke sitting up in bed, his back against the headboard, his posture too stiff and his hands just a bit too fidgety to be relaxed.

Watching him for a moment, she asks hesitantly, "Are you okay?"

"I feel like I should be asking you that," he says, his voice low and soft. He lifts his eyes to meet hers as he finishes speaking.

She knows but asks anyway, "Why?"

"You're not yourself."

She waves her hand, trying to brush it off, "I'm fine."

"No you're not," Luke says firmly, "and you haven't been since he called. She opens her mouth to speak, but he goes on, his voice softer now. "I just don't know what it means."

His voice trails off with a defeated sigh and his shoulders slump weakly. He has every right to be accusatory, she reflects, given her odd behavior over this, and the fact that he's not, that he's concerned, confused even, weakens her defenses.

"It means…" She stops, bringing her fist to her mouth and closing her eyes. "God, Luke. I don't know if I can talk about this…right now, with everything that's happened, and we're finally…" She wants to say that they're past it, that they're moving forward, but it doesn't feel so true right now.

"Then when?" he asks. All she can do is stare back at him helplessly and when she doesn't answer, he says softly, "I shouldn't have left the other night. I thought I was giving you some time, but now it's like you're hoping the whole thing will blow over." He lets out a long sigh. "It's not going to. We really need to talk about this."

She doesn't want to admit she'd been avoiding it, but deep down she knows that if they could put off talking about Christopher forever, she wouldn't complain. "Does it have to be now?" she pleads.

He takes in a breath and lets it out slowly. "I think it does."

"Why?"

Pausing a moment, he gives her a serious look. "Because I want you to stop being afraid that if I hear Christopher's name I'm going to suddenly decide I don't want to be with you anymore."

"I'm not," she protests weakly.

"I think you are," he insists gently. "But, the thing is, he's Rory's dad and whether I like it or not, he's around, so you have to believe that I can deal with that."

Of course, she thinks, he _can_ deal with it. She's just not sure why he would _want_ to. Her shoulders sag helplessly and he gives her a sympathetic look, crossing his legs to make a space for her next to him. Patting the bed, he asks, "Please?"

With a reluctant sigh, she walks the few steps to the bed and lowers herself to sit on the edge, half facing away from him. Her movement concession enough for the moment, she waits for him to talk,

Leaning forward slightly, he speaks, his words warm and gentle. "It's just that he keeps coming between us." She stiffens involuntarily and he pauses, sighing. "And we keep letting him. And this time, it's not even about…well, I have no idea, but it feels like something else is going on." There's another pause, this one more hesitant. "The kind of thing it might help to talk to someone about."

She glances quickly over her shoulder at him and his little half-smile is so hopeful and his expression so open that she has to look away. Staring down at her hands for a moment, she notes absently that her new moisturizer doesn't quite seem to be doing the trick. She's not quite sure how long she sits there, but it's a credit to his patience that Luke waits for her to speak.

"The thing is," she starts, her voice thin and reedy, "him calling like that – it means my mother was right. And that right there is a sure sign of the apocalypse, but if that weren't enough it means…it means that I didn't see it. I didn't see how it all affected Rory." She pauses, swallowing. "I let it all happen."

"What? What are you…" he stumbles over the words. "What does your mother have to do with anything?"

"She's right," Lorelai says, her voice too high. "I let him worry too much about me instead of Rory. I let whatever feelings he had for me get in the way-"

"Stop," she hears him say, and taken aback by the sharpness of his words, she turns to face him. "You're wrong."

"No," she protests, "I let him care more-"

He cuts in with a frustrated groan. "Lorelai. You can't-" Tapping his closed fists on his leg, he takes a deep breath. "The last thing I'm going to do is defend your screwed up relationship with…" Luke lets his voice trail off, and she notes the irony that even though he'd insisted he could deal with it, he's avoiding saying the name out loud. He continues though, his voice hard. "But no matter what happened, he's the one who chose not to be a father. You are _not_ responsible for that." He gives her hand a squeeze to emphasize the point and it's the first time she's realized that he's holding it.

"But how could I not have seen it?"

"It's not like you didn't have a few other things to worry about," he says lightly. "You came here, just you and Rory. You were still a kid yourself, but you got a job and worked your way up and bought a house, and the whole time you were raising this amazing daughter all by yourself."

She can feel her cheeks flushing at the praise, but the guilt is still there, a tight knot in her gut, so she just looks down in her lap where his fingers are tangled with hers.

"You know," he says thoughtfully, "sometimes you make it look too easy, I think. You're so strong and independent and confident and capable and-"

"Stop." She hits his knee gently with her free hand.

He leans a little closer, so that his folded legs rest against her hip and she can feel his breath on her shoulder. "I haven't said anything that isn't true." Shrugging, he adds, "And maybe that's the thing."

"What are you talking about?" she asks, a little too brightly, covering up how self-conscious he's making her.

"You're the mom every kid wishes they could have. The one that's cool and funny but knows how to lay down the law when she has to. The one who devotes her life to her kid but still has time to start her own business and participate in every freak show Taylor drags this town into. You're like some kind of superhero mom. And everyone knows it, and expects it, and pretty soon you start to believe it too – that you've got to be the perfect mother and have all the answers." Sometime while he was talking, he'd tugged her a little closer and slipped his arm around her waist, resting his fingertips against the skin just above her pajama bottoms. "You take all of the responsibility. You always have."

"I just did what needed to be done. What anyone would have done."

"But that's the thing, not everyone would have done it." Turns to look her in the eye. "You always do that, you know."

"What?"

"Give everyone the benefit of the doubt." There's a serious note in his voice and she narrows her eyes a bit, wondering where he's going with this. He takes a breath and says quietly, "You've always given Christopher the benefit of the doubt because he's Rory's father."

It sounds like an accusation and after all of his compliments and praise she's suddenly feeling defensive, thinking that maybe she'd been right to avoid this conversation, that it was too soon to talk about it after all. She twists away from him, biting back a response about the way he'd let Anna treat him.

He holds her firm though, this time pulling her all the way into his lap and wrapping both arms around her, then whispering into her hair, "It's not the worst thing in the world, always thinking the best of people."

A lump forms in her throat at the way that he can turn this all inside out and make it about her being a good person. He rests his chin on her shoulder and she relaxes against him. It's reassuring, as though he's trying to tell her that he'll always be able to see that part of her. That maybe he not only is able to understand, but that he wants to as well.

And so she tries to figure out how to explain what seems beyond explanation. "It's just…the alternative," she says weakly, "to think that your kid's parent doesn't want to be a part of her life, doesn't want to be involved. It's just a hard thing to imagine. I can't really wrap my head around it." She lets out a short little laugh, "There's an image. Wrap your head around it. Have you ever really thought about that?"

He doesn't say anything, but his arms tighten around her.

"Now all I can think of is a really gross version of pigs in a blanket."

He chuckles and leans back against the headboard, pulling her along with him and she's glad for the moment just to lie there thinking about hot dogs wrapped in brains, anything really, besides the many, many ways that Christopher has let down Rory over the years.

For the moment, Luke seems as though he's content to leave it at that, but after a few minutes, he runs one of his hands up and down her arm and asks, "Can I ask you a question?"

She nods. "Sure."

From the way that he hesitates and takes a breath before speaking, she can tell he's been thinking about this for a while. "If he'd shown up when Rory was younger and wanted to be in her life, wanted her to visit him regularly and everything, what would you have …I don't know, what would you have thought?"

She shakes her head. "I would have been pissed as hell." His muscles tense and she struggles to clarify. "I would have been angry if after so many years of not taking responsibility, he suddenly wanted in. But Luke, it isn't the same as it is with you and April. You didn't know. Anna didn't give you a choice." She takes a breath. "And she had no right to keep that from you."

He's quiet for a while, but finally asks, his voice low and thick, "What would you have done?"

Letting out a long sigh, Lorelai says reluctantly, "We would have worked something out. I wouldn't have been thrilled about it. By then I was used to having her all to myself and it would have been hard to share her. But I wouldn't have been able get in the way if he'd really wanted to be there for Rory."

"Of course you would have," he says, and she can't make sense of his tone. There's warmth mingled with resentment and she wonders how it's possible that she's annoyed him again so quickly. He's silent for a while and when he finally speaks again he takes a deep breath first, as though he's working up the nerve to say something important. His voice is as tight as his arms are around her. "It just makes me so angry, that he wasn't there for Rory. That he had that opportunity and threw it away. It makes it so easy to hate him."

From the way that he goes still as he says it, she can sense how big an admission this is – to say out loud how he feels about her daughter's father. "I get that," she says, running a soothing hand along his arm to show that she understands his resentment.

The fact that he can be as open with her as she has been with him makes it possible to ignore the fact that when he speaks next, he sounds a little like a schoolboy complaining about the teacher's pet. "But it's still always going to matter to you that he's Rory's father."

She has to pause for a moment, to try to put into words the way that things have changed.

"Yes it will," she admits, turning slightly in his embrace so that she can look him in the eye, "but that's all that matters now."

He lifts one eyebrow curiously and she tries to explain. "He's always going to matter to me because he matters to Rory – like I'll wish him well because that's what Rory would do – but I think maybe it's time for Rory to decide how much slack to throw him."

"Really?" he asks, a faint little smile playing across his lips.

"Yeah," she says, sinking back into his chest again, "I think it's about time."

He mutters softly, "About damn time."

She chuckles into his chest, and as the soft laughter bubbles up out of her, she feels freer than she has in a long, long time. And she realizes that the relief she feels is less about the weight of her relationship with Christopher being lifted off her back and more about breaking down a barrier between her and Luke.

_To be continued_


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** I'm just borrowing them so that they can have their happy ending.

**Author's Note:** For a story that wasn't originally going to extend beyond chapter two, this one found its way pretty firmly into my heart, and I'm a little sad to be wrapping it up. Thank you so much for sticking with this story and leaving such thoughtful feedback. It's meant the world to me.

I also have to give huge thanks to the betas: **CineFille**, **iheartbridges**, and **Lula Bo**, for reading this twice because I get neurotic about endings, and for feeding me lines when I get stuck. This whole story is so very much better for their having been a part of it that I really can't thank them enough.

* * *

When she'd first brought up the dinner invitation, in the few days between Christopher's phone call and her long talk with Luke, it had been a lighthearted attempt to pull Luke out of his 'I'm upset that you won't talk to me but I'm covering it up with understanding and patience' mood. She'd joked about how Luke had been summoned to fill the gap at the table caused by Rory's attendance at some business function of Logan's. She'd mentioned that if Luke knew what was good for him, he'd make sure that he had other plans for Friday.

He didn't, he'd said rather insistently, and so here they stand at the front door of her parents' house. He gives her hand a gentle squeeze and she marvels that somehow it's always Luke calming her down before seeing her parents and not the other way around.

Emily is surprisingly gracious when she comes to the door, and though Lorelai searches her expression for some level of contempt, she comes up empty for the moment. When they join Richard in the living room for cocktails, Emily offers Luke a beer. Lorelai watches him, can see him glance at the pitcher of martinis, then give a little determined smile and say, "Thank you. A beer sounds good." Emily nods without a hint of disdain and it's only the first of several opportunities for one of her subtle but pointed barbs that she lets pass. As the small talk portion of the evening commences with polite questions from Emily and Richard about April and the diner, Lorelai finds herself studying her mother and wondering at her restraint.

It seems to fall away a bit at the dinner table. They're only a few bites into their salads when Emily asks Luke, "So, you've resolved your legal issues, then?"

Lorelai blurts out, "Mom!"

At the same time, Luke starts, "What?" He pauses then, realizing. "Oh, you mean the custody suit?"

"Yes," Emily says. "You don't have any other unresolved legal issues, do you?"

Lorelai glares at her mother as Luke answers. "Uh, no. No legal issues. Just the custody thing, which is resolved." He gives a faint smile and notes with confidence and with a touch of pride. "I was able to get the visitation rights I asked for."

Emily nods. "April stays with you then?"

"Yes, she's with me two afternoons a week and every other weekend."

"Well that seems like a reasonable arrangement," Richard adds from the other end of the table. "Is it all going well for you then?"

"So far so good," Luke says. "We're still getting used to the routine, but it's been going well."

"She'll be with you next weekend?" Emily asks casually. When Luke nods, she continues as if it's a matter of fact, "You'll have to bring her to dinner then. Wouldn't that be nice, Richard?"

Richard barely has a chance to nod and say, "Of course," before Emily continues speaking.

"We'd love to meet her, especially considering…" She glances at Lorelai, arching her eyebrow as her gaze slips to the ring hanging around her neck. "The two of you," she adds nebulously.

Lorelai gulps and says a little desperately, "Mom, what's the rush? There will be plenty of time to meet April. Why don't you let her and Luke have some time together before you start claiming their Fridays?"

"Well, your father and I certainly don't want to _impose_," Emily says with all of the sincerity of one of her DAR friends fawning over a new hair-style or bit of jewelry. "Luke, if it's _inconvenient_ for you and April to come to dinner next week, we can arrange another time."

He's clearly heard the tone in her voice that contradicts her gracious words and says simply, "We'll try to make it." Watching him, Lorelai has to wonder what has changed that Luke now seems equal to the challenge of her family in a way he's never been before.

With that concession, Emily seems satisfied to move the conversation onto other topics, such as the hideous fashions at the latest gala to benefit some obscure disease of the pancreas, as well as speculation about Rory's post-graduation plans.

Later, as they finish up their after dinner drinks and get up to leave, Lorelai says, "Hey, Mom, could I talk to you for a minute?"

Emily nods. "I suppose."

Lorelai is exchanging a look with Luke when she hears her father say, "Well, I've got something I'd like to show Luke in my study, so we'll leave you two ladies to talk."

She is still staring after Luke and her father when Emily cuts in. "Well, what did you want to talk about?"

"Mom," she says, ignoring her mother's question. "What is he going to show Luke?"

"I honestly have no idea, Lorelai. Now did you-"

"Do you think you can ease up on Luke a bit?"

"Ease up? I don't know to what you are referring. Your father and I have been nothing but polite to him all evening."

What's perhaps most surprising about the evening is that she's actually correct, but it isn't really what Lorelai had in mind. "That's not what I meant. You actually have been polite, as strange as that is. It's just, can you back off about April?"

Emily seems to pass right over the comment about her behavior and asks sharply, "Is there some reason you're trying to keep me away from Luke's daughter?" She narrows her eyes. "Is he still preventing you two from spending time together?"

"No, of course not," Lorelai answers impatiently.

"I'm not sure why you think that's such an odd question. Wasn't that what broke you up last spring?"

"Yes, but we've worked through that and I'm spending a lot of time with April."

"So, what's the problem? Are you that ashamed of us? Do you think that I won't be able to conduct myself in a manner acceptable to a thirteen-year-old?" She says the last with condescension and Lorelai sighs.

"No, but Mom, you have a strong personality. I don't want you to scare her."

"So now I'm some sort of monster?"

Lorelai sighs again, shaking her head as she looks down to where her toe is tracing the pattern in the carpet.

"Lorelai, that little girl is going to be your stepdaughter at some point, and I haven't even been allowed to meet her yet."

"No need to jump the gun there, Mom," Lorelai says lightly, thinking that she'd never have thought that her mother would be talking about a wedding between her and Luke without cringing, especially when she and Luke have yet to truly discuss it.

"Oh, so you're not getting married? Then why do you have an engagement ring?"

"I didn't say that." Lorelai falters. "It's just…we don't have specific plans."

"Then what does _that_ mean?" Emily glances pointedly at the chain around her neck.

Lorelai takes in a breath and lets it out in a long, slow sigh. "It means that we're getting there. We're working it out."

"An engagement ring is meant to be worn on your finger, Lorelai."

"Well, we're going radical, Luke and I," she quips. Her mother shakes her head, then Lorelai lets out a long sigh. "Does it really matter where it is, if the end result is the same?" she asks wearily.

Emily softens a bit. "I'm not quite sure what you're waiting for."

Lorelai meets her eyes and says quietly, "It's just nice not being in a hurry."

Emily looks back at her as though she can't quite understand this woman in front of her. Any further questioning, though, is cut off by Richard's voice as he and Luke exit his study. "You give these a read, son, and we'll have to plan a time to get together for a round."

Luke responds graciously, tilting his head toward the two books he's holding in his hands.

As soon as they're outside, Lorelai tugs at his arm. "What the hell did he give you?"

She looks at the titles as he answers, "Books about golf. To improve my game." He glances sideways at her with a pleading look. "Please, please tell me that I'm not going to have to have a weekly golf date with your dad."

"I don't know," Lorelai answers teasingly. "You took the books. Now it's only a matter of time before you join the club and start smoking cigars over scotch."

"Hey, _you're_ the one who needed to talk to your mother," he accuses. "What was that about anyway?"

She starts to brush it off, but then admits with a shrug, "I just asked her to chill out about April."

"Why? Are you really that worried about it?"

"You're not?" she asks, giving him a skeptical look. He just shrugs and she sighs, "It's just…It's my _parents_. And she's _so_ not my parents that I don't want her to run screaming."

"Well, she's going to have to meet them at some point."

"Are you sure about that? We can't just keep them each in their own bubbles?" Luke lifts his eyebrows and Lorelai drops her shoulders in defeat. "I guess not."

Luke chuckles, but takes her hand and gives it a squeeze. "They do seem to have mellowed a bit, especially your mother."

"Yeah, they have," Lorelai answers warily. "I just hope it's not an illusion."

It's that thought that occupies her on the way home – the way that Emily has come to accept, encourage even, this relationship she's barely tolerated in the past.

When they'd been at the cabin, Lorelai had likened her relationship with Luke to a cross-country road trip, and she still sees it that way. As she and Luke have grown more comfortable with each other again, just spending time together has been as enjoyable as the sights they've seen along the way.

They'd gotten lost briefly in the wake of Christopher's distraction, but together they had found their way back to where they'd been. And when they had it was with a renewed determination to not be deterred from their trip.

So it's with a bit of frustration that Lorelai processes her conversation with her mother. She knows that in her own odd way, Emily is trying to be supportive and Lorelai can't help being a little irritated with herself for not fully appreciating that. The thing is, though, as much as she knows that there's something wonderful waiting at the end of this trip - something life-changing, even - she doesn't want to rush past everything else there is to see along the way. She wants to see the endless cornfields of Nebraska and glory in the majestic mountains of the Rockies. Even experience the heat of the desert.

She thinks maybe that's what went wrong before. They got so fixed, or at least she did, on where they were going that she forgot to just enjoy the journey. And so now, she just wants to sit back and ride for a while.

* * *

They do all go to Friday Night Dinner the following week, and strangely, it's not horrible. Rory comes home to Stars Hollow beforehand and she and Lorelai pick up Luke and April at the diner. Riding together, standing as a group on the front porch, the sense of cohesiveness is so strong that Lorelai, in spite of what she'd told her mother, can't help but flash forward to a time when they will be a family.

Throughout the evening, her parents continue in their courteous deference to Luke. Even more surprising, Emily and April find an odd kind of synergy, April's outgoing nature an unexpected fit for Emily's tendency to ask probing questions. Lorelai finds herself almost gaping in bewilderment as she watches the two of them converse.

After dinner, they all head back to the diner. Lorelai settles at the counter with a cup of coffee while Rory takes her mug to sit with April at a table. Luke leans on the counter, resting his weight on his forearms. "That was…" he starts.

"A little weird?" she finishes. "It _was_ weird, right?"

He nods. "April and your mother. Who would have thought?"

"Who indeed?" Lorelai says, chuckling. "It's good though, I think."

"Yeah. It is strange though, how nice your parents have been lately." He seems to have a hard time with the word 'nice,' as though he can't quite reconcile it in the same sentence as her parents.

"I know," Lorelai agrees. She pauses for a moment and when she speaks, her voice is soft, tentative. "It's almost like they actually accept everything – you, April…me even."

Luke just takes her hands between his and gives her a gentle smile. "It is, isn't it?" After a moment, he adds, "Your mother does seem particularly interested in my living arrangements though. Is there some reason she asked all those questions about my apartment?"

"Yeah, well…" Lorelai sighs.

"What?" His eyebrows rise curiously. "Has she said anything to you?"

"There is the little matter of the house," she says, staring down into her coffee cup.

"Your house? What about the house?"

"No, not _my_ house," she mumbles. "The house they want to buy for us."

His eyes widen. "Buy _us_? They want to buy us a _house_?"

"Yeah." The confirmation lands as a soft little thud between them.

"When? When did she tell you this?" Lorelai winces a bit and it doesn't escape his notice. "What?"

She bites her lip. "Last spring they-"

"You've known about this since last spring and you never told me?" There's a touch of annoyance mixed with the surprise in his voice, and the way that the dissonant combination rattles in her ears makes her both defensive and sad.

"Well it was…she didn't tell me until after April's birthday party and things were," she lets out a sharp huff, "well, it was pretty much the thing that made me realize it wasn't happening. I saw these pictures of this amazing house that my parents picked out for us, and my mom was already dreaming up ways to get you to accept it, and I just knew it wasn't going to happen." Her voice has dropped to almost a whisper, but she manages to keep it even. It hurts, remembering. It's a wound that's not completely healed; the scar is still pink and even a little tender to the touch. But at the same time, they can look at it, face it, knowing that they are whole again. And that, after everything, they're actually stronger than before.

Luke squeezes her hands tightly and whispers, "I'm sor-"

"Don't," she says, cutting him off. "Don't. It's in the past. Well, except for the house thing anyway."

Lines of confusion form in the space between his eyes. "What?"

"My mom's been 'keeping them occupied with negotiations,'" Lorelai answers dryly, using air quotes for emphasis.

Luke looks a little alarmed. "What does _that_ mean?"

Lorelai spreads her hands in a gesture of ambiguity. "I think it means they still want to buy it for us."

"Oh," he says, understanding now. "So she's getting impatient."

Lorelai nods slowly. "Yeah, I guess that about sums it up."

"Hmmm," he ponders, his mouth curving into a small, amused smile. "So is it a nice house?"

She allows herself to remember and because of that, her voice comes out more wistful than she'd have liked. It had been something she'd wanted so desperately, that house, that life. Something she thought she could never have. "It's beautiful. Big, but beautiful. There'd be room for April and Rory to have their own rooms. There's land, a fishing hole, stables." Telling him about it, she knows she still wants it, really, really wants it, but now she can see it, imagine it without sadness and despair.

He lifts one eyebrow. "Fishing, huh?"

"Yeah."

"And your _parents_ picked it out?"

"Yeah."

"Wow." He shakes his head in disbelief. "Your parents want to buy us a house."

She just laughs softly.

"Well, that's very interesting," he muses. "Very interesting indeed."

* * *

The next day Rory and Lorelai lounge on the couch, watching as a _Leave it to Beaver_marathon winds down on TVLand, and anticipating a much more relaxed family dinner. Saturday night dinner has become routine, whether April is with Luke or not. This is the first time, however, that Rory has been able to join them, and the first time April will have a meal at Lorelai's house. Lorelai looks forward to the three of them tormenting Luke with talk of television, celebrity gossip and makeup tips.

With that thought, she fills Rory in on her idea to have a _Project Runway_ season finale bash. They begin to plot out some of the details, considering Luke's insistence that he'll watch a reality show over his 'dead body,' and the fact that Luke has to have April home before the show starts.

"We may just have to tape it and watch it later," Lorelai finally says as she stretches and lets her head drop against the back of the sofa.

"I guess," Rory answers, "but it'll be hard to keep from finding out who wins."

Lorelai laughs. "For you, maybe. I'll be fine as long as I spend most of my time with Luke. I think Taylor would be more likely to know the _Project Runway_ winner than Luke."

Rory rolls her head toward her mother and gives a wide smile. "You're right about that. Do you think you'll be able to talk him into this?"

Lorelai gives a sly grin. "Don't worry. Between me, April, and you, he'll be there whether he likes it or not."

"And complaining the whole time."

"Just like we like it," Lorelai says, grabbing the remote as the credits roll on the last episode of the marathon.

They're quiet while she flips through the channels, but when they've been through most of them without settling on anything Rory shifts so that she's sitting sideways on the couch and says, "How about you? You're really not coming to my party?"

Lorelai feels a tug as Rory is all of a sudden eight years old again, but she takes a breath and shakes her head, "No, I can't." She tilts her head to the side. "I'm sorry."

Rory wrinkles her nose, questioning, "Is it about seeing Dad? Would that make you uncomfortable?" He voice softens. "Or is it because of Luke?"

Lorelai thinks before answering. "No, it's not that. I'm not worried about seeing him. And it's not Luke," she says confidently, more sure than ever about that. "It's just better this way. For all of us."

"Okay," Rory responds hesitantly. "But is that the way it's going to be all the time?" She screws up her face in consternation. "If he's there, you're not? Because I'm not sure I'm okay with that."

"It's not like that at all," Lorelai assures her quickly. "Don't you even think that I'm going to miss out on stuff to avoid your dad." She gives a wry smile, realizing the irony of what she's just said, and explaining, "I just think that _this_ time, it's important for me to not be there. For you. And for your dad. I just want to make sure that he knows that he can be your dad without me."

Rory looks up at that. "Mom?" She holds her gaze, eyes serious. "Did something happen?"

Lorelai considers not telling her – thinks that she shouldn't tell her because it will hurt her - but Rory's not a kid anymore who needs protecting from her father's behavior, so she lets out a long breath and says quietly, "He called me, to talk to me about planning the party."

"He called you?" Rory looks angry. And disappointed. "He promised me he wouldn't." Her voice falls. "He promised."

She can't really bear that look in her daughter's eye so she falls back on old habits, explaining and excusing, the words tumbling out of her mouth quickly. "Look, he wanted to run the idea by me, and see if I wanted to help. I'm sure he just didn't want me to feel left out. Plus," she emphasizes with her index finger, "he's always run everything by me before. He probably didn't think about the fact that you're so grown up now."

"Mom." Rory gives her a knowing look.

Caught, she meets her daughter's eyes and sighs. "HonestlyI don't know why he called. Maybe it was to be polite, maybe it was to gloat that he was having a party and I wasn't, maybe it was…" She shakes her head. "It really doesn't matter. But I do need him to see that I'm serious. That he and I are your parents, nothing more."

"God," Rory says, twisting her fingers together in her lap. "Why can't he just…" Her voice trails off, sober and defeated. "Why don't I ever learn?" She's the eight-year-old Rory again, her lower lip poked out just so and her body slumped to the right into the back of the couch.

Lorelai watches for a few moments, then reaches out, resting her hand on Rory's shoulder. "Hey," she says softly. Rory looks up at her from under her long lashes.

"I'm not going to tell you what to think, but you guys have been good – with the sushi and with Gigi and I'd just hate to see you throw that away over a phone call." She can see that Rory's hearing her advice, but her expression is wary, and it fills Lorelai with regret. She rubs the bridge of her nose and lets out a sharp breath. "You know, it makes me think…makes me wonder if I'd gotten out of the way sooner, if you two would've had a stronger relationship. I just hung on too long."

Rory sits up straighter and shakes her head. "No, Mom. It's not like you were hanging onto nothing. You had feelings. I know you did. And that…" She shrugs. "That complicated things, but you can't discount your own feelings. And you can't take responsibility for this. I mean, I know that you always have, but Dad is what he is, and I can deal with that."

It's somehow both heartbreaking and reassuring to hear those words from her daughter. She can feel tears in the corners of her eyes and has to work to blink them back. It's a few moments before she can speak and when she does her voice is steadier than she'd have expected. "Just so you know that he's always loved you. He's never quite known what to do with that, but he's always loved you."

Rory rubs her chin between her thumb and forefinger thoughtfully. "I know. I do. The rest is…we'll work it out, I guess." She looks up at Lorelai. "No matter what, though, it's not going to change anything between us. You know that, right?"

All Lorelai can do is give a tremulous smile and pull Rory into her arms. Holding tightly, she finally whispers, "I'm sorry if I made it worse."

Rory responds immediately. "You didn't."

They stay like that for a long time, before Rory pulls back with a glint in her eye and asks, "So, how are you going to make it up to me?" Lorelai stares blankly at her and Rory clarifies, "The party. We're going to need a pretty fabulous substitute event."

"Well," Lorelai says, drawing out the word playfully. "I did have some spa thoughts, maybe girly movies the night before?" She looks over at her daughter tentatively, then adds, "Oh, and Luke wants to make you dinner too. April won't be around, but he did insist that I let him make you a cake."

"Well, if you insist," Rory says, laughing. She stretches her legs out onto the coffee table and leans over to rest her head on Lorelai's shoulder. After a moment, she says nonchalantly, "So, speaking of Luke?"

"Yes?" Lorelai asks suspiciously.

"That ring's been hanging around your neck for a while now…" She lets the sentence trail off, her words an obvious hint.

"Oh my god!" Lorelai protests. "Did Emily get to you too?"

"No." Rory shrugs. "It's just that you're happy. Really happy."

Lorelai can't help but smile a little giddily. "I am. Everything's really coming together."

"So, when's the wedding?"

"You _have_ been talking to your grandmother," she answers, deflecting.

Rory just smiles wryly and ignores her mother's attempt to avoid the question. "So, soon?"

"I assume at some point," Lorelai says casually.

Rory eyes her curiously. "You want to marry him, right?"

"Of course I do. Why would you…?"

"It's just that before you were so eager you were going to jump in a car and do it right then, and now…you're so patient. It's not like you." Rory's forehead is wrinkled in concern.

"Gee, thanks," Lorelai says wryly.

"Well, you have to admit Mom, you've never been the poster child for waiting your turn in line. I just want to make sure you're not having second thoughts. I mean, I know it's not a good idea to rush, but…" Her voice trails off and Lorelai almost laughs at the worry in her eyes.

"Rory, it's not…See, the thing is, I was rushing before because it was all falling apart and I was just trying so hard to hold it all together. It was like a grocery bag ripping on the way from the car and you're carrying it and everything is about to fall and you just know that if you drop it the soda bottle is going to burst and fall on the eggs and create some sort of toxic sludge that will cause you to grow a third arm with a chicken claw on the end of it if you touch it. But if you can just keep it from completely tearing apart until you make it into the house, then you'll be saved the mutant arm." She sighs and her voice falls. "I think I just thought if we could actually be married that it would solve all the problems with April and Anna and us. I was moving so fast, because I just _knew_ that I had to get the bag across the threshold or it would be disaster, but all it got me was toxic sludge all over the porch."

She glances up at her daughter, who is wearing an expression somewhere between baffled and understanding, and Rory gives her a small nod.

The thing is though…" Lorelai wrinkles her nose. "If I'd made it, held it together long enough to get through the door, the toxic mess would have been in the entryway. It would have been a mistake to get married then." She gives her daughter a rueful look. "Not as bad a mistake as what did happen, but it would not have solved our problems. Now though…" Pausing for a moment, she smiles thoughtfully. "It's just nice to know that the bag is stronger and I can take my time getting to the door. So I guess I'm just reveling in being able to be patient."

Rory raises her eyebrow at that, but then smiles. "Okay, as long as when you do decide to get married I'm there."

"I wouldn't dream of doing it without you." Her mouth curves into a frown. "How screwed up must I have been to consider getting married without you there? If that wasn't a sure sign that eloping would have been a mistake, I'm not sure what was." Lorelai shakes her head at her own stupidity.

"Well, you won't be able to keep me away this time," Rory says decisively.

"Good," Lorelai says, reaching her arm around Rory and feeling her daughter's head fall down onto her shoulder. They sit there in comfortable silence for a moment, Lorelai's mind traveling back through heartbreak and separation and heartbreak again, trying to remember a time she'd felt this whole, this complete. Sighing happily, she lets herself just revel in that feeling.

She's still got that warm, contented feeling when she hears a key in the lock and Luke and April step into the house. She gives Rory one last hug then jumps up to greet Luke with a kiss and April with a hug. She leads them into the kitchen, Luke carrying bags of groceries from Doose's and April carrying a box of cooking supplies that Lorelai senses Luke has no intention of taking back to his apartment when he leaves.

As Luke sets up in the kitchen and April helps him, Lorelai watches him direct her, not in a casual way, but actually teaching her the crazed non-organizational system of Lorelai's kitchen. A few minutes later, he's fishing through the box, giving a frustrated groan. "I forgot to bring a whisk."

"Oh, I think I have one," Lorelai says, wrinkling her forehead as she tries to remember. "Umm…there." She points across the room. "I think it's in that drawer."

Luke lifts his eyebrows, looking almost impressed as April opens the drawer and stares skeptically.

"Is it there?" Lorelai asks.

"Yeah," she says, pulling it out. "Along with," she glances down, "a large supply of twist ties, four cookie cutters, and…" She holds up a short serrated knife with a bright orange plastic handle and a bright green paddle-shaped tool. "Several of these."

"Oh!" Lorelai hears Rory exclaim from across the kitchen. "_That's_ where the pumpkin carving tools are."

"I know," Lorelai laughs. "We always go out and buy new ones every year."

"Oookay," April says doubtfully. "I really don't understand your organizational system."

"That's because there isn't one," Luke scoffs.

"Not true," Lorelai protests. "That's the special occasion drawer."

April just gives her another skeptical glance. "And the whisk is in there, why?"

Lorelai just chuckles, "Eh, who knows. It's as good a place as any, I guess." She pauses, shrugging. "You know, you should help me come up with a new system. Luke keeps bringing stuff over and leaving it here and it's throwing everything off." She gestures widely with her hands to emphasize 'everything,' grinning as she catches Luke's eye. She can hear Rory laughing from across the room and April nods enthusiastically as she glances around, probably already mentally cataloging the contents of the kitchen.

There's nothing particularly special about this moment, Lorelai thinks, but as she looks around she realizes it's the kind of scene she didn't want to rush through or skip over. She wants to experience all of the joy and laughter of simply being together.

At the same time, though, she can also see their future in this scene, and when she looks back toward Luke she can tell he sees that too. And that makes her look forward eagerly, to anticipate the moment when they reach their destination and she can dip her toes into the Pacific Ocean.

_Fin_

**Author's Note:** While this story is complete, the _Road Home_ series will continue with two more chapters of _Broken_.


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